


When Family Nox

by bubblesnail



Series: Black Sheep 'verse [1]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alive!Carson, Alternate Universe, Discussions of death, Fae & Fairies, Fae!John, Family, M/M, Nox - Freeform, Plotty, Scottish Folklore, Sheep, Timeline What Timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-08
Updated: 2011-09-10
Packaged: 2017-10-23 13:03:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 50,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/250584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubblesnail/pseuds/bubblesnail
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which John Sheppard has some Nox in his family tree and Scottish legends take a distinct turn towards the extraterrestrial.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** All for fun and fun for all, and ne'er for profit doing. I lay no claims to SGA, SG1, Star Trek, Star Wars, LOTR, the Keebler Elves, or My Little Pony.
> 
>  **Acknowledgments:** With fondness and appreciation for Joe Flanigan's ears, without which, this story never would have taken form. Thanks also go out to my betas -- the stellar Paleogymnast (who also did the fantastic art!), Kizzy (my sweetie), Rinkafic (who saw an earlier version and provided a lot of great feedback), Zoemathemata (for bouncing some inspiring Fae ideas for me... _glamours!_ ), and SpaceKat for waving the pompoms and keeping me on track in RL. Apparently, asking me on a semi-daily basis, 'Are you giving up?' is one way to keep my dander up and fingers flying.
> 
>  **Warnings:** violence inherent in an action/adventure plot, very brief references to past abuse of a child, very brief references to past death of a child (not abuse-related), discussions of death and funerals, canon death of Patrick Sheppard, and abuse of both Stargate canon (translation: this is very much Timeline-What-Timeline/AU, people) and Scottish folklore.

[](http://archiveofourown.org/works/251941) ......... [](http://archiveofourown.org/works/251941)

  


ART by [](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/paleogymnast/profile)[**paleogymnast**](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/paleogymnast/)

 _Children born of fairy stock  
Never need for shirt or frock,  
Never want for food or fire,  
Always get their heart's desire:  
Jingle pockets full of gold,  
Marry when they're seven years old.  
Every fairy child may keep  
Two strong ponies and ten sheep;  
All have houses, each his own,  
Built of brick or granite stone;  
They live on cherries, they run wild-  
I'd love to be a Fairy's child._

"I'd Love to be a Fairy's Child"  
—— Robert Graves, 1918.

* * *

After three weeks of missions running as FUBAR as possible, John had really hoped this one would go well. It was their fourth point of contact with the Faltians. The only things on the agenda were the drop-off and pick-up of trade goods — the Faltians had a large herd beast that tasted like gamey rabbit, but produced milks and cheeses that were near indistinguishable from the ones back home.

John and his team were seated at a long table, a feast spread out before them. He took one long glance at the sheer number of dishes presented and sighed.

Unlike most civilizations in the Pegasus galaxy, the Faltian society had spread out far beyond the vicinity of the 'gate. There were temperate zones at the planet's poles, with a wide strip of scorching heat in the equatorial region and the mechanical engineers had been excited to see the submarine-like creations that allowed travel and transport between the two habitable areas. Typically, John would leave planetary geography in the hands of the sciences, but he'd learned not to skim that section of the briefing. It was a running joke that the Ancients favored climates that resembled the Pacific Northwest… but it was true. The majority of worlds they visited could be described as such. And every time they visited a planet that had trade relations with a warm-climate region, the danger of Rodney ingesting citrus increased.

* * *

Automatically, John took a portion from every bowl and platter offered to them and used his enhanced sense of taste to search out any hint of citrus that might cause McKay a problem. The salad-type thing was out, but the meat McKay was eyeing was out as well. They were nice, faintly pink circular cuts shaped like pork tenderloin but had the same taste as the not-rabbit/cows.

Rodney reached to serve himself a slice and John stayed his hand, giving the man a headshake.

McKay threw him a look. "It's meat! Tasty, tasty looking meat."

It was a great honor to eat the flesh of the not-rabbit/cows. Djuzl, John reminded himself.

"Sorry, buddy. They're marinated in a citrus sauce."

"No, they're not," Rodney protested. He took a cautious sniff. "I don't smell anything."

John sighed. Unlike with the salad, the citrus on the meat was very, very faint. But the last time he'd detected it, just barely discernible, and gave Rodney the go-ahead because it was like one drop distributed throughout an entire pot, his astrophysicist had needed the epi-pen after four mouthfuls.

"I know you don't smell it. It's really faint. And if you want to give it a shot, I'll get my pen ready. But, I'm telling you, those tasty juices are going to make your tongue itch and your throat swell."

Rodney looked mournfully between John and the plate.

John went back to his meal and continued sampling items while Rodney decided whether he was going to trust John or throw a fit.

"The purple beans and that darker salad are definitely out," John announced when he was finished trying everything. "And that plate of meat."

Rodney looked at the slice on John's plate, then at the ever-diminishing stack on the platter. "You just want more for yourself." That he said it more as a whine than an accusation soothed the sting of the words.

"Ronon," John called to alert the man, then neatly speared the slices on his and Rodney's plates and deposited them on top of the warrior's.

Ronon gave them an enthusiastic smile as he wolfed down more of the meat. "Thanks, McKay."

"I don't know what makes _your_ taste buds so special," Rodney groused.

John answered with a smirk, "Magic," knowing he'd never be believed. And it wasn't _magic_ , exactly. Except, to folks who weren't too concerned with semantics, it kinda was.

* * *

Outside of his mother and her family, Todd had been the first to learn John's secret. It wasn't so much that John had told him. I was more like when being fed upon by a creature who drains life-force, said creature was bound to notice his prey having more vitality than could ever be reasonably expected. Even though the Wraith had been careful, Todd had in fact fed from him three times. John could remember the draining sensation of energy flowing through him, and it had taken him a few seconds longer than was prudent to realize that the Wraith feeding wasn't causing him to age. He'd never had to do anything so complex as creating the aging glamour for his face and hair on the fly like that, but the alternative of remaining youthful on video during a prolonged feeding would've caused trouble for him with the Genii, those on Atlantis, and especially the Wraith.

The amount of energy Todd took from him hadn't killed him, but it should have, and they'd both known it. John honestly hadn't expected his biology to protect him from a wraith feeding, but he'd never been more grateful to his Nox ancestry for the assist and the abilities to cover it up.

And wasn't _that_ a story people'd love to hear? With his mother dead and the FaeNox on earth living in secret, John was the only one who knew he was different. He'd never tell, of course, and the SGC doctors hadn't been able to pick up on the variances in his genetic code… attributing any dissimilarities to his strong expression of the ATA gene. John was convinced that there were clues he wasn't fully human, hidden inside his DNA, but that the researchers didn't know what to look for, and he was fine with keeping it that way. Upon John's return from captivity, the expedition members had been simply too relieved at his return to question John's miraculous stamina (or they simply hadn't cared). The military men and women, though, took it for granted that their military commander was naturally just that awesome.

He liked being awesome. He liked having sharper senses, faster reflexes, vastly accelerated healing, and the ability to cast glamours to cover up the fact that he wasn't still bruised or cut. He could read in both Ancient and Nox and he'd gotten good at acting over the years — odd skills for a military flyboy, but ones that had come in handy, too. Of course, he never advertised his acting and only chimed in with a "Gosh, golly, gee, that squiggly bit there reminds me of…" translation help when someone was going to make a serious mistake.

He had other skills, more profound ones, but they were more of a mixed bag of blessings.

* * *

Right at this moment though, as the Faltians feasted, John's spidey-senses were tingling. Not literally; he didn't get psychic premonitions in advance of ops being blown to hell. No, his talent for sensing something wrong was 100% human. Anyone with eyes to see could tell that half the political delegation was acting twitchy and nervous. There were fewer Faltian guards around, too. John had initially taken it as a sign that the Lantians were becoming trusted, but with evidence of some sort of political tension factored in, he knew he needed to be on the alert.

Dinner was winding down; the main dishes had been carried out and replaced with bowls of sweetened puréed vegetables that the Faltians favored for dessert. Many had abandoned the long tables and benches to relax in cushioned alcoves for small group conversations… or other activities that didn't rely on words. The politicos continued to be twitchy, but as the night wore on and no threatening moves were made, John's instincts were screaming about danger, propelling him up from his seat and into making half-assed excuses to his Team.

He shrugged off their knowing (Teyla), pissy (Rodney), approving (Ronon) looks and let his body slouch a bit more as he ambled over to the viscount's very eligible daughter.

"You folks certainly know how to throw a banquet around here." He ran a hand up her arm. Other Nox could pluck thoughts out through the air, but for John, it only worked if he was touching. "I'm glad to see everyone getting along."

She leaned into his caress, and he rubbed her bare shoulder as she said, "Indeed. The alliance between your people and mine is greatly treasured." _And would be more so, if Dekkoth would dare to use it to our advantage._ The words flowed brightly on the surface of her mind, and John had no trouble catching them. So strong were her thoughts he probably could have picked them up through clothing, but he kept up the skin-to-skin contact just in case.

Below them, on the main floor, trumpeters appeared in advance of a dance performance. But rather than pleasure from her, he sensed anxiety.

"Are your musicians very talented, dalanine?" he inquired, addressing her by title. Rodney still fumbled with details like these, but John had an edge.

His attempt to direct her attention was successful as her thoughts of, _Oh! The trumpets! Father will be terribly cross if I do not excuse myself now_ , skittered through her mind.

She gave John a promising smile. "Please forgive me, but my mother is signaling to me. Enjoy the music. I hope to see you again soon Colonel Sheppard, and then we can work again toward a more harmonious partnership."

She hadn't pulled away from his touch yet and he could tell her words were sincere. She truly was wishing him well, but John knew how to add and this situation was as easy to solve as one plus one.

"Yes, we should definitely work together in the future," he leered at her, using her departure as an excuse to go wandering off toward the sidelines of the celebration. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted the viscount and several other government officials making their way from the gathering.

He touched his earpiece. "Everyone stay sharp," he murmured, face still frozen in a dopey smile. "Something's up, and I'm expecting trouble in the next minute or two."

"Your new girlfriend clue you in, Kirk?" McKay muttered.

"As a matter of fact, she did. Leave now. Get away from the main group of people. I don't think we're the targets, but we don't want to stick around."

"What?"

"Move. Keep your head down and don't get shot in the ass, Rodney."

"Shot?" McKay hissed. "What are you —"

The duke was the first to fall, three spots of blood blooming on his chest. Panic erupted in the hall as people ducked beneath the heavy tables for cover.

John checked to make sure they all were still wearing their tac vests and held himself ready to lay down cover fire as his team made their way through the panicking crowd to the outer fringe of the gathering, Teyla and Ronon flanking Rodney and bringing him along between them. Which, naturally, was when a new set of attackers showed up and started laying down less discriminating amounts of fire into the crowd. John cursed under his breath and moved his position to get a better angle on both the current unfriendlies and the newer group.

A bolt grazed his left shoulder just as he ducked around the side of a tree. Itching hypersensitivity swiftly followed the initial burn, and John resolutely ignored the healing tingles with an ease born of frequent practice.

After switching his weapon to his off-hand, John splayed his fingers over the small oval hole in his shirt sleeve and fashioned a glamour to disguise the tear. If he didn't take care of it now, the discomfort would soon be gone and he'd forget later. Carson, keen-eyed Scottish bastard that he was, was the type to notice weapon-shaped tears in clothing without corresponding wounds.

* * *

In the end, Rodney managed to keep his head down and his ass unpierced. Rodney's calf, however, caught a stray round before anyone realized they were in a ricochet zone.

His Team, his fault.

They worked together to haul Rodney along and ease him down in the shelter of the DHD. John ordered Teyla to dial the 'gate and Ronon to maintain their position and be ready to lay down defensive fire, though no one seemed to care that the off-worlders had fled. This time, at least, they weren't targets.

John himself began to dress the wound and braced himself in advance of what he knew to expect from touching an injured Rodney — confused desire, selfish jealousy, unshakable trust, general and specific irritation at the world, and pain. Lots, and lots of pain. It was a nearly overwhelming combination and Rodney's acute awareness of John always made him feel echoes of himself until he concentrated enough to tune it out.

Rodney gritted his teeth against the pain as John pressed down on the wound. "I was watching you, Sheppard. I saw you go from completely twitchy and bored to oozing up to that woman. Is there some military directive I don't know about that states the military commander is required to use his or her sexual wiles to obtain information from the natives? Because you seem to do it an awful lot."

John shrugged. He was usually more subtle. There hadn't been time tonight for subtle. "Nope. No rule. Maybe I just like flirting with attractive alien women," he offered.

McKay rolled his eyes. "Obviously."

And there it was again — a not-fully-formed thought of _slut_ washed through Rodney's mind, but it was braided with nascent feelings of hurt and jealousy that John never could take serious offense. He'd learned long ago he couldn't hold people's private thoughts against them.

John would keep on reading people for the safety of his team, and Rodney would keep on thinking John was incapable of wanting to keep it in his pants. Rodney would never realize exactly _why_ he liked spending time with John, and John would never correct Rodney's assumption that he was 100% straight. It wasn't worth giving up what they had now, and John knew the second he allowed himself to spend more than a few brief moments in physical contact with Rodney, it would all fall apart.

It always did.

"Colonel." Teyla's voice drew his attention to the open wormhole. "IDC sent and confirmed."

John and Teyla helped Rodney up; the scientist's face twisted in discomfort. "All right, buddy. Let's get you to Carson."

He could see it — something bitchy, something whiney on the tip of Rodney's tongue. John even knew what the unsaid complaint was, so much of their body was in contact. But Rodney looked from him to Teyla and offered up a pained smile.

"Yeah. All right."

* * *

The sting of rejection was still sharp as Maeve paced her rooms, fuming.

Seeking lovers among the humans — forbidden — even though her sister had been allowed to live among them for years. Leaving the isle at all — also forbidden. Mother was still displeased with the aftermath of her last trip to mingle with the mud-dwellers. That the restrictions were only placed upon her chafed all the more, but if Maeve wanted to carry her mother's favor, it was not the time to cross the Morrighan of the Fae.

Yet now, not a single soul on the isle was willing to dally with her. One little careless mistake and veils were pulled across the archways before she'd even begun to speak. Fools.

She needed new people, new conquests, and a larger world to explore than their city. Her people should have been masters of this planet, but the more human societies developed, the more cautious the Fae had to be. Luckily, Maeve knew just how to get what she wanted.

« _Taranis!_ »

The strong bond she shared with her son would allow him to hear her mental call. But Taranis' strongest gifts were in combat and healing, so she only received an impression of flight, the thrill of the hunt, and a question. The feel of his joy soothed her rage and she forced herself to take two slow breaths before responding.

« _No, it's not urgent. Enjoy your day. It can wait until your return._ » To a servant in a nearby room, she ordered, « _Tea!_ »

In short order, Maeve relaxed on her balcony, sipping hot rosehip tea and watching the _capall sgiathanach_ moving through the air. Some of the winged equines bore riders, but most tussled and cavorted riderless. Her Taranis wouldn't be one of those in sight now; the hunters favored the hunting grounds, far from human civilization on the main isle.

Although she had beautiful surroundings and wanted for no material thing, Maeve wanted more than this.

And she would not be her mother's daughter if she did not know how to shape the world to her wishes.

* * *

Hours later, the chime sounded, alerting her to the presence of a visitor at her archway. Maeve's mind tendriled out and recognized Taranis had returned from his hunt.

« _Let him in,_ » she instructed the city and the glow of the privacy veil dimmed to nothing.

"Did you need me for something, Mother?"

Maeve motioned him to a chair across from hers and observed, "Well, at least in your forty years, you've learned to wash-up after your hunts. Did you enjoy yourself?"

"The beast's still evading our party, but I was able to return with two head of sheep for our table this evening."

Taranis helped himself to a piece of fruit and relaxed further into his chair, content to wait her out until she'd spoken her mind.

This was a delicate subject, and for all that Maeve's anger demanded immediate action, she knew herself to be calculating enough to bide her time. She'd spent the rest of her morning seething and then scheming, but the decision to actually take action was not one to be implemented lightly.

In the end, though, if her people could achieve this, they would all benefit — some even more so than Maeve herself.

"It is time for the FaeNox to reconnect with the FreeNox. Dana's boy has the ability, and he's of an age to accept the responsibility."

Taranis was silent, but Maeve could detect words and questions swirling just beneath the surface of his mind.

"Speak your thoughts," she snapped irritably. "If I cared not to hear them, I would have issued you a direct order."

"Just the FreeNox, or the Nox, too?"

Maeve had considered the question already. "The Nox would be less understanding of our involvement with the people of Earth and much time has passed since we were last in contact with either group. It makes sense that the FreeNox would be more receptive to reopening communication."

Taranis smirked, "Even though our ancestors essentially mutinied and took over the city when Earth was being evacuated?"

Maeve shot him a quelling look. "I do not expect the negotiations to be easy."

"Nor will convincing my cousin," he pointed out. "His words were quite adamant in his last message and grandmother promised Aunt Danu that he would not be forced to serve his purpose."

Maeve nodded. "Convincing the Morrighan to change her mind will be tricky, but I believed she can be convinced. There is unrest in our people, unrest that would be alleviated if all were given the choice of relocating to our homeworld. I will take care of convincing your grandmother. Your task will be to locate John Sheppard. Find my sister's son."

"He was not able to be located the last eleven times we checked."

"I don't care. Look harder. If he cannot be found, then you will find a way to bring him to us."

If the boy could be brought to the city, Maeve had several options for binding him to her wishes.

"Yes, mother. I will see that it's done."

John Sheppard would be her tool to use. One way, or another.

* * *

John was just thinking about grabbing Rodney and heading to the mess when Carter approached.

"Colonel, a word in private?" She beckoned him into her office, looking distinctly unsettled. The doors shut behind him as she sat down on the corner of her desk.

"Sir?"

"Take a seat," she offered, but he waved her off. She pressed her lips together, drew in a breath, nodded. "In our last data packet from Earth," she reported, "there was a notification that came through for you. I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but your father suffered a heart attack and he passed away two days ago."

John eased the chair out and sat heavily. "Right. I."

"Take some time, John. Please."

He shook his head, but he didn't know why he was trying to protest. It had to be habit. Or denial.

"That's an order, John. Take the rest of today off. Your brother sent word that the funeral will be held the day after tomorrow." She frowned. "I don't know why they couldn't have been more timely with the message, but we'll ground your team while you're away. None of the upcoming missions on the roster are critical, so it won't hurt to postpone them until you've had some time. I'm moving up our regular check-in with Earth by eight hours so you'll have enough time to get where you need to go."

Travel back to Earth was easier now with the intergalactic gatebridge, but he appreciated Carter's consideration. "Yeah. Thank you."

She bit her lip and John remembered that she, too, had lost her father. John wondered if Carter's mother was also dead like his own. She cleared her throat.

"Let me know if I can… do anything." It was a helpless offer.

Elizabeth would have pressed him into a hug, but for all of Carter's awkwardness and hesitancy, he could tell she cared. They were still getting to know each other, and although they worked well together professionally, Samantha Carter hadn't truly bonded with any of them here on Atlantis.

But because he could see she hurt for him, he dredged up a misshapen smile. "I will," he promised.

John wasn't quite sure where to go after that. Still in a daze from the news, he hit the mess first. A stern, no-nonsense expression on his face discouraged interaction and held him through picking up some MREs from the stacks and taking them back to his quarters.

But once settled in the privacy of his room… what was there to do?

He wasn't about to cry. He and the old man hadn't been close.

John snorted. 'Close' didn't even begin to describe it.

* * *

The door chime sounded.

John ignored it.

It sounded again.

He balled up his pillow and adjusted it underneath his head, silently picturing his annoying visitor's body crumpling like the pillowcase folds.

Rodney knocked. Only one person knocked like that. Giving in gracefully because the diatribe would be that much worse if Rodney had to hack his way through the controls, John willed the door open.

Oddly, Rodney didn't barge in. In fact, just his head peeked around the jamb. "Sheppard? The door was locked."

John just gave him a look. Sure, he didn't lock his door often, but he did, every once in a while. Okay. So that was a lie. He pretty much never locked it.

Rodney frowned, his thin-lipped mouth pulled into an expression of worry.

"What's going on? Sam strongly suggested that I check up on you. And I thought she was crazy, because you never need checking on. Except your door was locked and you kinda look like you need checking on."

John glanced out the window, past the balcony, toward the ocean. "She didn't tell you?"

"No." John didn't contribute anything after that and eventually Rodney continued, "So, I guess you don't want to talk about it?"

Despite himself, that pulled a laugh from John's throat. Once the somber mood returned, he looked up to see Rodney still hanging awkwardly by the door. "Come on in, McKay."

Rodney made a production of snagging one of John's pillows as a cushion and sitting down on a storage locker. "There, that's better. Though, should I be going out and coming back with beer instead?"

"Yeah, probably." Then, "My old man died." Just like that, John said it. The words had been easier to say than he'd expected.

Rodney mouthed the words silently and it took a few seconds for the meaning to parse. "John! That's awful. I mean, are…" He trailed off into silence, face twisting up. "No, of course you're not. Stupid question, McKay." He shrugged uncomfortably. "Sorry. I suck at this."

"It's all right, McKay. I'm not bad off. He and I, we didn't get along."

"Oh. Huh. Really? That I can relate to. I mean, when I heard that my —" He broke off abruptly and offered up an apologetic smile. "Sorry. We're talking about you."

"No, it's okay." He really didn't need to talk about himself. Ever. "What were you going to say?"

Rodney stalled, hands fisting in the sides of his pants before he concertedly clenched them 'round his knees.

"My father, if you could call him that, was an abusive asshole. And, well, it's terrible of me to say it, but I was glad to hear that he'd died. And now your father's dead. So if you'd been a paragon of filial devotion, I'm not sure how comforting I could be, considering my lack of frame of reference. You —" he sputtered. "You're laughing!" McKay accused with his full indignant glory.

John reached into his desk drawer and flung a chocolate bar Rodney's way. "Go trade us some beer, McKay, then get your ass back here."

* * *

Rodney returned with a six-pack of beer, but only half the bottlecaps matched the colors of the packaging.

"While I recognize that I should be catering to your plebian American tastes, I see no reason to drown my own sorrows in anything but Canada's finest," he said, handing John a plebian beer.

They clinked bottlenecks and resumed their seats from earlier. John felt strange holding this ritual of theirs indoors, but the weather had turned colder at night and he was numb enough from his own thoughts without having to add exposure to it. Plus, if they were out on the pier, Rodney would probably bellyache about hypothermia the entire time. Which, all things considered, might not be that bad. Rodney had a sort of constipated look on his face that typically meant he was about to talk about something he didn't want to bring up. John knew he wasn't ready to discuss whatever Rodney thought they should be talking about, so he took the offensive after savoring a swig of beer.

"Is your mother any better?" John asked, wondering if in this way, too, they were similar. It was a decent trade-off — asshole fathers, kind mothers.

Rodney glared at him, as if he knew what John was doing by turning the conversation around this way, but he settled himself down to answer with another pull from the bottle. "Better? She wasn't an unmitigated bastard the way he was, and I was a little sad when she died. She read to me when I was an infant and got me even more books when I was a toddler. She never tried to hold me back academically, so yeah, I kinda have to appreciate her for that. But she stayed with a man who disrespected her and she didn't ever lift a finger when, well, let's just say I was lucky I could take care of myself and get out of there. So, I don't know if I could agree with the whole 'better' concept."

John lifted his eyes to meet Rodney's. Rodney looked away first, turning his head as if he were looking out the window, but John had seen enough cadets dressed down to know Rodney was focused in his own head. He reached out and wrapped a hand around Rodney's ankle. The scientist's casual pants hitched up at the shin when his knees were bent, and John was able to get flesh contact along the length of his middle and ring fingers between sock and pant cuff without having to fumble or grope. Thoughts of his family were in the forefront of Rodney's mind and it wasn't hard to get the answer to the question John didn't have the right to voice.

It had been almost entirely verbal abuse. Mostly Rodney's father, but a bit from the mother, too. Rodney's mother had berated him for making trouble and not trying hard enough to keep the peace. The elder McKay was a piece of work though — constantly belittling and never satisfied. It made a sick sort of sense. Rodney was infamous for his sharp, cruel tongue. He'd had to have learned it somewhere.

It only turned physical after Rodney was legally an adult (and not just an emancipated minor) — a split lip after Jeannie's high school graduation, a bruised cheekbone and fingermarks on his neck the evening before Jeannie walked down the aisle to receive her first degree. After that, Rodney stayed the fuck away.

"He's dead?" John asked, half hoping he'd misheard and that the bastard was alive for John to teach a lesson to.

Rodney's eyes hardened. "Yep."

The joy and satisfaction that Rodney felt as he said that weren't anything John had been prepared to handle. He jerked his hand away, breaking the link between them. If Rodney wanted him to know about that, he'd have to say it out loud.

John gave an awkward squeeze to Rodney's covered, thankfully covered, knee — the thoughts were more muffled that way. "Okay. Good."

They sat companionably in silence as the moon inched higher in the sky, sipping their beers.

"So, uh, you're going to the funeral? Who all will be there?"

"M'brother, his wife. I think they've got more than one kid now. Kids might not be there. Aren't kids supposed to be a certain age before you drag them to go look at dead bodies?"

Rodney huffed. "Don't ask me. My parents weren't a good model for anything except ruining a person's self-esteem. Luckily my healthy ego was an inborn trait and I figured out I was smarter than both of them in kindergarten after I saw my peers eating paste and my teacher was mispronouncing the names of the dinosaurs." His eyes went distant as John watched. "I went to a classmate's funeral in kindergarten. That was my first dead body. He was riding his bike on the sidewalk against oncoming traffic. They say he popped a wheelie off the curb and crashed into an oncoming car. He wasn't wearing a helmet."

John hissed in sympathy.

"When I heard the news, I remembered my mother driving me past a sedan parked on the road leading to my street the day before. It wasn't a spot where cars were normally parked, so I'd turned around in my seat to get a better look. The windshield was cracked in a big circle, like a bowling ball had been dropped on it." Rodney swallowed. "I don't know. I don't think you're ever old enough to see your first dead body." He shook himself, straightening up from his slouch. "When my grandparents bought me a bike for my tenth birthday, I wouldn't touch it. Still haven't ridden a bike to this day."

"I can get that. And, yeah, you're never old enough," he said, thinking of Cadet Marsh back in basic, who'd suffered a stress-induced heart-attack.

"I was in the Air Force when I saw my first actual dead body." _But that wasn't the one that hit me hardest. Sometimes seeing the body makes things easier._

Rodney nodded, then, as if the scientist were the one able to read minds instead of John, he asked. "Your mom's not going to be there? Bad divorce?" John knew what his face looked like as grief welled up and, even in the half-dark, he could see the second Rodney realized he'd made an incredibly bad guess. "Shit, sorry. Sorry. I'm sorry." It came out all rounded Canadian o's. "Were… were you closer to her?"

John remembered her homemade oatmeal cookies, the way she helped him practice at soccer, and the super-super-secret trip they'd taken to a magical island where his mother's family lived. "Yeah." He didn't have to say any more. Somehow, Rodney understood.

* * *

Four empty bottles were lined up on the floor along the edge of the bed — two for him, two for McKay. They'd both migrated to the ground over the course of the night, McKay still keeping his commandeered pillow and bracing himself against the storage locker while John eased himself back against the side of the bed.

"I don't get family funerals," McKay said quietly, almost as if to himself. "Out here, it's different. When we lose a member of the expedition, they either did something bravely stupid, or they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Everyone out here, even the apes in the labs, does their utmost best. Don't you dare tell them I said that," he added hurriedly. "They're the best in their fields and they give it their all. So I understand the memorials for them. They deserve it. They deserve it and so much more. But back on earth, when a horrible person dies, people just flock to his grave and prattle on about how he'll be missed and what a great man he was and how sad you and your sister must be. Like they know anything."

John's eyes narrowed in sympathy. "Rodney." And then John felt bad, because his father's death was hitting McKay harder than it was him. "This is stirring up some bad memories for you."

"Yeah, no kidding. Some help I am."

"Hey! No." He reached out and squeezed McKay's ankle again, giving it a little shake. "None of that. I get what you're saying. I don't think my old man was quite as bad as yours, but I know how people can be two-faced, showing one side of themselves to one group, and keeping the ugly side under wraps for only a select few. My younger brother, Dave, was the good son. He's gotta be a mess right now. They were close. Me? I could never do anything right. Ever. The old man was out of my life a long time ago. So this? Just makes that separation more permanent."

Rodney looked like he accepted that, but his next words were determined. "It's different, though. When you're both alive there's the possibility, however unlikely, that things can be said and that maybe, someday things can change for the better." He picked at the label of his Molson. "Didn't a part of you ever want… something better?"

John swallowed, bitterness thick on his tongue, hating Rodney just a little bit. He'd been prepared to write this off as just a long goodbye that had been extended indefinitely. It was SOP for the military. But Rodney, with his inquisitive scientist brain and genius-level perception that typically was hidden under a bushel, had teased out one question he didn't want to answer out loud.

"Did you?" John asked instead, turning the question back around. "Hope for something better?"

Rodney drained his third beer, held the bottle up to the dimmed lights in a salute, then locked eyes with John. "Yeah, I did. And if even _I_ felt that way about my bastard of a father —" He let the sentence trail off, unfinished. "Funerals are stupid and they suck when you're bombarded by the insipid well-wishes of idiots who know nothing, but John? It took me a long while to figure this out, and I know you suck at stuff like this as much as I do, so I'm just gonna tell you. Feel free to ignore me, but I really think I'm right on this, and I just gotta say…" Rodney took a steadying breath. "At funerals, it's good to mourn. Not for your father, but for the fact that his life ended before he acknowledged what an exceptional man you are."

The words were like a punch to the gut. John swallowed. "Sure, McKay." It would be so easy to crawl over there, trace Rodney's face with his fingers, let the skin-on-skin contact tell him all he needed to know about _exceptional_ , and if that could ever possibly mean what John wanted it to mean. He had to clamp down so hard to quell the urge that he knew his jaw was clenched in a grimace.

Rodney glared like John was a numbskull anthropologist spitting on the laws of physics. "I mean it."

John closed his eyes and smiled to himself. This was enough. It was enough that he had this. "I know, buddy. I know."

Only slightly impaired by temper and inebriation, Rodney crawled over and sat next to him, letting his shoulder bang companionably into John's. John slouched over and bumped him right back, resisting the urge to let his forehead rest against Rodney's neck. They both stared up at the ceiling, heads resting back on the edge of the mattress, while outside the moon crawled even higher.

Fuzzy from the alcohol and exhausted from the day, John was only partially conscious when Rodney said softly, "I'm glad you made it here to Atlantis."

After that, the rest of the evening was just a blur.

* * *

Head pounding, Rodney woke with a groan. He'd made sure John got from the floor to his bed and he'd had some presence of mind to sweep the empty bottles to the side so that John wouldn't accidentally step on them if he woke up to piss in the middle of the night. He'd used the last of his energy to haul himself back to his quarters and made it back only by sheer dint of will. It had been a good call, though. If his back felt this awful after having slept on his prescription mattress for half a night, Rodney cringed to imagine what he'd be feeling if he'd stayed sprawled out on John's floor.

Not feeling up to dealing with the idiocy of others this particular morning, he forewent visiting the labs and trundled off to the mess before today's batch of fruit-nut muffins had been claimed. Only Teyla was at their regular table and he picked at his breakfast morosely as she attempted to fill the silence caused by their team members' absences.

"Doctor McKay, are you not feeling well?" she inquired.

He only had the briefest hesitation at sharing John's business. It was _Teyla_. She wasn't one for gossip and she genuinely cared about them all.

"John got some bad news after we got back from that last mission. His father passed away."

Teyla's face was instantly a mask of deep sorrow. "I am greatly saddened to hear that."

"Sheppard doesn't talk about his people," Ronon said, scowling at either his purple mik'va eggs or at the thought of Sheppard's clamshell mouth. "Were they close?"

"No," Rodney admitted, "but they didn't have to be for it to affect him."

Teyla nodded her agreement, then asked, "Are the end-of-life customs I've observed here on Atlantis standard for your people?"

"More or less. On Earth most people opt for either burial or cremation." Rodney himself was torn between cremation (and compression into a diamond) so that no one could ever create an evil clone from his body, cryo-stasis in the event he could be healed and revived in the future, and simply jumping the gun and simply cloning himself — not that his table-mates needed to know that.

"He going back for the ceremonies?" Ronon asked, mouth full of the purple eggs now that he'd added more relkar root flakes.

"Swallow, then speak, wookiee," Rodney chided, then winced when Ronon took another large bite and chewed it obnoxiously in retaliation.

Unrepentant, Ronon swallowed, washed it down with three-quarters of a glass of water, then said, "So? He going?"

"Yes," Rodney huffed. Stupid Sheppard.

"You disapprove of him attending?" Teyla said, a frown line creasing her brow.

And, see? This was why he shouldn't have said anything. He didn't know how to explain.

"Surely, the colonel is entitled to time off to mourn," Teyla reasoned. "With your power supplies backed by a ZPM and the bridge active, he would not be leaving the city" _or you_ , her eyes said, "for long."

"It's not that." It _wasn't_. They weren't anything to each other. John tolerated him better than the rest of the Atlantis personnel, and Rodney supposed that maybe John considered him his best friend, and maybe they had an amazing mental synergy thing going on every now and then, but it wasn't likely to ever amount to anything. Rodney couldn't decide if he was genuinely disinterested in Sheppard, or if that's what he kept telling himself for the sake of his pride and group harmony. It was only when he caught Teyla giving him a knowing look that possibilities crossed into his mind. Even so, he'd grown practiced at keeping Sheppard squarely in the Friend box and was actually okay with that. As intriguing as the idea of them becoming lovers was, having John's friendship meant more.

Teyla used the time he'd been wrestling down his faint attraction to John to consider his words before she finally spoke. "Colonel Sheppard is accustomed to dealing with issues on his own. Most times, that is what he prefers. An intrusion into his time of sorrow might not be welcome."

 _Wrong!_ screamed his gut. _She's wrong._ John might pull away to lick his emotional wounds, but this wasn't the same. Rodney knew what it was like, attending a funeral because you needed closure, but unavoidably leaving yourself open to attack from all the other visitors. John deserved better. He deserved to have someone watching his six.

"He shouldn't be going alone," Rodney argued. "There will be people there, at the funeral; they're going to think they have a right to judge him and what he's done with his life. He doesn't need that. He faced those vultures alone all his life because he had to."

"And now he's got us." Ronon exchanged an approving nod with Teyla, then patted his gun. "Just tell me who to shoot."

Shooting? Rodney doubted that would go over well with… well, just about anybody. Still, they'd come out of more than one encounter with their backsides unriddled by holes because the natives were merely worried about what Ronon _might_ do. "How about this?" he bartered, grinning as he envisioned his plan working perfectly. "If I can pull this off, you can loom and look menacing."

* * *

Carter smiled at him as he entered her office and immediately, Rodney went on alert. "Why are you smiling?" he blurted, then cursed himself for mucking up Teyla's planned lead-in to requesting that he and two Pegasus-galaxy natives be sent through the wormhole as the colonel's mostly-superfluous-but-better-safe-than-sorry emotional support.

"I'm happy, McKay, because you daring to come in here means you've finally finished the performance reviews for the geology department. And you getting your paperwork done means I can relax and not worry about the IOA breathing down _my_ neck." She was _toying_ with him! She knew damn well he didn't have those reviews done. "You did finish those reviews, didn't you? Doctor McKay?"

"Ah… er… no." Then he remembered. "You! I was planning on finishing them last night, but then you had me chase Sheppard down and my intentions to be a good little paper jockey fell by the wayside."

"McKay," Carter sighed. "It doesn't matter what you were doing last night. They were due three weeks ago."

"And every time I have a spare moment and actually would prefer doing them to gouging out my eyes in boredom, something more important comes up!"

Carter raised her chin, a sure sign she was about to get stubborn. "Get. Them. Done."

There was no way she'd let him go back to Earth without the damn paperwork. "Fine," he caved. "You'll have them in three hours. They're mostly finished, anyway." He could see her biting back the _If they're mostly done, why aren't they on my desk?_ and appreciated her restraint.

She set down her stylus. "Since you're not here to talk about performance reviews, why are you here?"

"I looked at the logs. You only wrote up an authorization for Sheppard to travel through the 'gate to Earth." This wasn't completely accurate, as various crates from science and medical were slated to go through the wormhole on the same dialup and Carson was taking leave time to visit his family, but he knew that Sam knew what he meant.

"Is this your way of asking me permission to go with him?" she asked. And Rodney's respect for her dropped a notch for making it drag out like this. If he'd showed up in Elizabeth's office this worried, she would've immediately known to send them all together.

Screw Teyla's diplomacy. He leaned forward, bracing his hands on the table in front of him. "No, I'm _telling_ you that we need to go with him."

Carter's brown eyebrows ratcheted up at his tone. Rodney never quite understood why women dyed their hair but left the eyebrows their natural color, making it completely obvious that their appearance was artificial.

"We?" she challenged, oblivious to his fixation on her eyebrows.

"Teyla, Ronon, and I — John's team."

Sam sighed. "Rodney, I have no idea how Colonel Sheppard puts up with you, but he does, and I consider it to be a small miracle that reoccurs on a daily basis, because better him than me. If you finish those damn performance reviews before dial-out, and if he actually wants you to accompany him, I'll put through the paperwork. You've both got plenty of leave time stored up and goodness knows you both could use some down time. But getting Teyla and Ronon approved to travel is a headache I don't need."

"Not good enough. We go together. All four of us. I can't cover him myself if we run into trouble, and he won't tolerate any sort of a military escort."

"Sorry, nope. End of discussion."

"What if General O'Neill, Jackson, or Teal'c lost someone they were close to? What if Mitchell or Vala lost someone? What if Jackson bit it again?" Carter's expression was definitely more pissed than sympathetic now, and Rodney winced. "Okay, sorry. Not funny." Except it kinda was. He put thoughts of Jackson's multiple resurrections aside and tried again, more gently. "What if something happened to one of your team?"

"I understand, McKay, really. But Colonel Sheppard and his father were estranged. I'll authorize you to travel back with him, but sending two Pegasus galaxy natives to Earth isn't in the planet's or Atlantis' best interests. I hear you, McKay, but I'll already be down my military commander and my Chief Scientist. You're asking me to send our best and most knowledgeable Pegasus Galaxy allies as well. Getting clearance for everyone is going to be tricky, and if something were to happen…"

"Then why are we on AR-1 together in the first place if you're so worried about your shiniest eggs being in the same basket?" Rodney glared. "You'll still have Lorne here and you're almost as brilliant as I am, surely you can keep my scientists wrangled for two short days."

"Rodney…"

But he pressed on. "Teyla's the one who gets us to talk. Ronon beats him up until he's too tired to make a fuss, and I pester him until he sees sense and does what he needs to do. We all need to go."

Sam's smile was soft with memory, probably of her own experiences as a part of SG-1, but she still wasn't convinced. He couldn't really blame her. Getting clearance would be tricky and she wouldn't be able to resort to bribery like Rodney was doing. In fact, to sweeten the pot… He was going to regret this, but it was for John.

"The botany department's up next for their reviews. I'll have them to you in two weeks. No nagging needed."

She rolled her eyes. "Two weeks?" Carter asked, disbelieving.

"I _could_ , if I wanted to."

They both knew he was bending the truth a bit, but Sam was more intrigued now than anything. "You really want this."

"I talked with him last night and he won't admit it — hell, he'd probably argue against it — he needs us there. We're a team, and we'll deal with this together."

"All right, McKay. You're a team." That fond, reminiscing smile was back. "You all go. But remember, you _owe_ me. I like dark chocolate. Be creative with your gifts."

That, he could do. There was an expensive little Swiss place that guaranteed overnight delivery to anywhere in North America. He met and held her gaze so that she knew he was serious. "Thanks, Sam."

She waved him off. "Don't let the big guy frighten the natives or blow something up."

"Nah," Rodney dismissed her advice. "It's easy to spot when Ronon's about to take matters into his own hands." His eyebrows did a little dance. "It's Teyla that you've got to watch out for. She'll make a move without anyone noticing."

* * *

Normally Rodney found writing evaluations based on the scientific accomplishments of people who studied _dirt_ to be tediously boring. It still was, but now he wasn't doing it because he had to, he was doing it so that he could get what he wanted. Which, seemed to make all the difference. He finished the performance reviews and forwarded the data packet off to Carter's inbox in less than two hours.

He let Teyla and Ronon know to prepare and then set about the odious task of doing laundry in the Ancients' weird waterless washing machines. He'd pick up a suit from those kept on hand at the Mountain, but his supply of casual attire had dwindled to the point that it couldn't be ignored any longer. He carried his clothes down to what the marines affectionately dubbed "The Stank Pit," and what everyone else called "The Laundromat," and was pleased (though unsurprised) to see John there, going about the same task.

Some generous soul had dragged in a long, narrow Atlantean table and left behind two paddles and a bowl of ping pong balls. Sheppard finished up with his clothes, then fiddled with one of the paddles, spinning it on its rounded end like a top. He nodded at Rodney and dredged up a half-smile, but didn't say anything.

Rodney started up the sonic cleaning cycle, then went over to the makeshift ping-pong table and let his fingers run along the edge. "You up for a game?"

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say because mopey thunderclouds formed over Sheppard-land. "You don't have to."

Rodney snagged the unused paddle and pulled out one of the orange balls — he scored 14% higher when he didn't use the white ones. "No," he agreed, "I don't have to. And, since you're not aiming your gun at me, I'm free to make my own choices. Game point at 11," Rodney said, then served while John was still twirling his paddle.

John won. Rodney was too principled to throw a game, but John had won fair and square, coming from behind after a 7-0 streak in Rodney's favor. The colonel gathered up his basket of now-wrinkled clothes and stopped at the door. His jaw worked, chewing over the words he hadn't spoken the entire time they'd been playing.

"Thanks, McKay." _For the game. For last night_ , Rodney's brain supplied.

"Any time, Sheppard."

He _could_ have told John then about their team's upcoming group adventure, but that might've given Sheppard the impression that he had a choice in the matter. It was far better to shrug a helpless what-can-you-do? than to ask permission. John would go with the flow. Probably.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

Running into Rodney doing laundry had been a bit odd, considering it usually fell to John to point out that Rodney really couldn't keep putting it off and rewearing the stuff. The last time Rodney'd let it slide and John hadn't noticed, Atlantis had gone into crisis-mode and the top scientist's shirts had gone, in the space of two weeks, from passably funky (there _were_ a bunch of marines working out on base daily) to something that could be lobbed at an enemy as a bioweapon. Questioning Rodney about his voluntary presence in the laundry room hadn't been high on the list of John's desirable activities. Either the extra positive attention would embarrass Rodney, or, well, really, the easy silence had been nice and John hadn't wanted to break it.

Back in his room, John dumped the basket of clothes out on his bed. He swiftly folded what needed folding and matched socks, tossing items now and then into his open duffle. As he worked, he mulled over the pros and cons of bringing his dress blues or purchasing a dark-colored suit. He'd sold off all the suits he'd worn to his father's parties when he joined the military, so finding one that fit decently off the rack would be a matter of luck. Wearing the blues would call attention to himself, but he wouldn't be the only one there in military dress. Patrick Sheppard had been well connected through his defense contracts and among the affluent crowd John was going to be with, an ill-fitting cheap suit would almost draw more attention than the blues always did — thus outweighing any discretion the ubiquitous funeral garb might lend.

With a sigh, he fetched the uniform from his closet and folded it crisply before tucking it into the bag with a bit more care. The damn buttons were such a bitch to iron around. His dress shoes went into a zippered pouch at the base and, after a careful glance around at his room, John zipped the thing closed and checked his watch. There was just enough time to see his gang before he set off.

On his way to Teyla's practice room, John half-hoped she wouldn't be there. He hadn't told her about his impending trip and he was feeling too raw after last night to simply blurt out the news like he'd done with Rodney. His reaction — one he recognized as hurt disappointment — to the empty room, proved he knew squat about his actual wants. With a sigh, he headed towards his next target. Ronon was usually in the mess at this time of the morning, but Ronon wasn't there today and none of John's friends were present. In Rodney's lab, Zelenka gave him a cheerful wave, then looked puzzled when John asked after McKay.

"If you do not know where Rodney is, Colonel Sheppard, I surely do not. I think he is working somewhere, holed up on special project. He sent me email this morning saying that he would not be by lab for several days. See if he will answer his radio, yes?"

John shifted his duffle bag to the other shoulder. "Yeah, thanks, doc."

He'd been trying to avoid that — opening a channel to any of them. It felt too needy. It wasn't like his travel back to Earth was going to be anything important.

Rodney, though… Rodney'd seen him at his lowest already. So what did it matter if John asked this of him too?

John activated the team's channel on his radio and tried for something casually upbeat. "McKay? Where you at? I wanna say goodbye before I go. I can't find Teyla or Ronon, either."

Sometimes, if Rodney was lost in thought, it would take a few moments. This time, though, Rodney answered without any delay, a touch of surprise coloring his voice. "Sam didn't talk to you? Huh. I'll have to double my order for her."

John had been headed for Rodney's quarters, but now he turned about-face and headed for the command deck. Something was going on. "McKay?"

"Teyla, Ronon, and I are all in our civvies in the gate room, ready to go. Haul ass, Sheppard, or you'll make us late for the dial-up."

John picked up the pace. "McKay?" John demanded, drawing out the syllables, taking several running steps each.

"Yes, yes, I know," Rodney said, and John could envision his hands flapping about as he tried to appease thin air. "You don't actually have to be present for the dialing and since we're only gating to Midway, we can keep the wormhole stable for the full 38 minutes without any substantial power drain to the city. But why waste time here peppering me with questions when all of us will just have to waste more time in quarantine before we're released?"

"All of us?" he echoed, not able to believe what sort of plot had just been concocted and sprung upon him like this — supposedly with Carter's blessing.

"Save your breath, Sheppard," Rodney told him, words soft and full of affection. "We're a team. I know you get what that means. We get it too. We're all coming with you."

* * *

John blamed his hangover for the lack of yelling in the gate room as Carter sent them off. It was either the hangover or simple shock, but his mellow quiet lasted through the mandatory 24-hour stopover in Midway and the out-processing at the SGC. His team spent the quarantine period talking amongst themselves, never forcing him to speak but engaging him comfortably when he showed interest in the topic at hand. John spent most of the time pressed shoulder-to-shoulder between Rodney and Ronon, with Teyla across from them. The clothing separating their skin from his muffled their thoughts, but even so, with two extra mental commentaries running through his brain at once, John just let loose and floated — no thoughts, just sitting and listening and feeling the peace that came from having his team safe and nearby.

Upon their arrival on Earth, John's team became his self-appointed guards. They clustered defensively around him, accepting the condolences the Earth-based crew extended to him and deflecting those who pressed for more than his quiet nod. At last, they shuffled into a room to wait until they could be checked over one last time by Dr. Lam. Another four hours were spent waiting for all the tests to clear — the docs were having a field day with Teyla — and John's daze lifted only as they drove out of Cheyenne Mountain, Rodney at the wheel.

"John? Where're we going? Peterson AFB?"

The question gets his brain in gear. "No, COS," John answered, naming the code for Colorado Springs' municipal airport. "My brother's sent a private jet to pick me up. I should —" He yawned. "I should call ahead, let them know we're taking on more passengers. It's an older model, not very efficient, and they'll need to recalculate the fuel."

He frowned, patting his pockets and looking around for a phone.

"Oh, honestly," griped Rodney, fishing blindly with one hand in his carry-bag that he'd insisted be squashed into the space between them. He thrust something thin and silver into John's hands. "Here."

John stared at it dumbly for a moment. It wasn't one of the cell phones the SGC loaned out to personnel on leave, so it had to be Rodney's personal phone. Why the hell had Rodney kept paying for service if he'd known he was going on what might be a one-way mission? Then again, Rodney had never acted like money mattered and his suit, on the occasions when John had seen him dressed up, was clearly of a tailored cut. He stared at the cat wallpaper on the device's interface for a moment, then dredged a number out of his memory and dialed.

After several rings, his brother answered. "Hello? Who is this? How did you get this number?" David demanded irritably.

"It's me — John," he clarified, not knowing if his brother would recognize his voice after all these years. "I'm borrowing a friend's phone."

"Johnny? Is there something wrong with the jet?"

 _Of course, because what reason would we have to talk unless there's a transportation problem?_ John thought bitterly. "Don't you 'Johnny' me; I'm two years older," he said gruffly. "And, no, we haven't gotten to the jet. I just wanted to let you know that there's been a slight change of plans. It'll be me and three guests flying."

"More military goons?"

"No… a scientist and two civilian contractors, if that makes a difference to you," John said, trying to keep a leash on his fraying temper.

"It doesn't. I'll alert the pilot and the ground crew. Was there anything else?"

"No," John said tersely, upset at being made to feel he'd wrongly interrupted his brother's busy day.

In response, David didn't bother saying goodbye. He simply ended the connection.

John firmly reminded himself that Rodney would not appreciate him crushing his phone and managed to shut the device gently.

He could feel eyes on him from the back seat and looked over his shoulder. Teyla's expression was solemn.

"Grief causes many people to do and say things they otherwise would not," she offered.

He bent and tucked the phone in Rodney's bag, choosing to say nothing.

On a normal day, John would be bitching about not being in the driver's seat, but he didn't feel up to putting up a fight. Only he and Rodney had valid licenses, and John's level of distraction right now didn't mix well with operating motor vehicles. He wondered if his mood would make it better or worse flying as a passenger on the jet. The only small comfort he had was the knowledge that at least the family jet had an exclusively contracted pilot, decreasing the chance for pilot error due to fatigue.

Rodney spared a moment's-worth of attention away from the road and discovered John glaring ineffectually at the steering column. "So, bearing in mind that I'm the person focused on getting us safely from point A to point B — if you're two-years-older-Johnny, who was that?"

"David, my younger brother. You might hear people who know him better referring to him as 'Dave.'" Davey, too, but that had been a lifetime ago and John doubted that he could get away with it now.

"If we see him, should we run interference?" Ronon asked.

"Huh?"

"We're your backup," Rodney answered.

"It's simple," Ronon said. "We don't like who you don't like, but you gotta clue us in on what's going on so we don't inadvertently scare away any old flames you'd like to rekindle." He spared John a speculative look, reminding John that Ronon _knew_ about Nancy. Not everything, but more than Rodney and Teyla. Ronon flashed white teeth."So, who all's going to be at this thing?"

John neatly side-stepped the leading setup. "A bunch of my dad's side of the family. But there'll probably be more kiss-ass business partners there than actual family members. With my father dead, there's a lot of investment money up for grabs and more wiggle room for contract negotiation."

"What about your mother's side?" Teyla inquired. "Is it not an Earth mourning custom to have extended family present as well?"

John imagined his grandmother showing up, surrounded by her entourage. It would never happen. "My mother's dead. Her family won't show up," John said shortly. It was true. And it saved him from explaining that his alien relatives didn't care much for mingling with humans.

"Not one of them will visit, you think?" Rodney asked, sounding oddly upset. "Not even to demonstrate support for you?"

"No. Not one."

* * *

From amidst the sea of $200 haircuts (quite a change from the military buzz cuts and scraggly-looking scientists), Rodney saw a head of hair that could only be described as alive. The odd thing was, it wasn't on Sheppard's head. Rodney watched as a short, wild-haired man in a pewter gray suit came up to them. Despite the height difference, the man's resemblance to Sheppard was so strong Rodney immediately suspected this was a family member. The man's unruly locks matched those sported by John and David and, as evidenced by the rest of the guests, the Sheppard line seemed to possess perfectly groomable hair; it was most likely that it was someone from John's mother's side of the family.

Unfortunately, Sheppard's back was turned to the approaching man and Rodney didn't have time to warn him.

"J-"

"Hello, cousin. You've been summoned," the man pronounced, affecting a lilting Scottish accent.

Rodney stepped nearer, noticing the flash of suspicion on John's face had transformed into a mask of lazy calm by the time John turned around.

"Oh?" Sheppard's smile didn't reach his eyes. "By whom?"

"It is a family matter. Our grandmother has taken on the mantle of Morrighan and she requests your presence."

The title rang a bell with Rodney, but Sheppard acted distinctly unimpressed. Years of spending time with the man in the field told Rodney their team leader was on high alert.

"How is batty old Grammy Morrighan these days?" Sheppard drawled. "Give her my regards, but I'm afraid I have other plans this weekend."

The man he was addressing paused, head tilted, and his dark gaze swept over Rodney's team. "How interesting." The man's eyes closed, as if listening. "You _all_ have been summoned."

"What?" Rodney demanded.

John ignored him, staying focused on the man. "No." His response was hard, without any pretense of politeness, and he pressed into the stranger's physical space. "Stay the hell away from them. And stay away from me. There was a deal and you will abide by it."

 _Deal?_ Rodney wondered, but before he could open his mouth, the messenger sidestepped John's body in a neat twirl worthy of Teyla, simultaneously taking hold of Rodney's wrist. Struggling against his grip was like vying against handcuffs without a lockpick.

"No!" Ronon reached for him… and his arm passed straight through Rodney's shoulder and the messenger's bulk, like they'd become ghosts. _Shit!_

Silently groaning, Rodney cursed himself as three kinds of stupid. People didn't become ghosts with a simple touch; there had to be another explanation… a phase shift, maybe. Rodney could still feel the man's firm grip, so he and the hand of his captor? kidnapper? were occupying the same plane. Though, if they were shifted, how the hell had the man done it? He didn't appear to be carrying any equipment.

"Dr. McKay," Teyla intoned, stance tensed and ready for battle.

"Easy, guys," John cautioned them. "He's been phased. Like, other-plane-of-reality phased." John's gaze roamed the area Rodney was standing, as if he were hoping to catch a glimpse somehow. "McKay, I probably won't be able to hear you right now. Do what he says and hang tight until I come get you. You won't be in any physical danger; they're just trying to get to me."

That pronouncement wasn't entirely as reassuring as it could be, but Rodney nodded. John would fix this — Rodney trusted that.

"The Morrighan, queen of the FaeNox's _seelie_ and _unseelie_ courts, requests your presence, son of Dana," Rodney's captor said with a cold smile. "Your companions are also required." His gaze ran up and down Teyla's body. "This one's thoughts are so… odd. She is also quite especially pleasing. Shall I take her as well, to ensure your compliance? I warn you — if I am forced to return and mingle with these creatures again, the ride will not be so smooth."

Teyla shifted to a combat-ready stance, anticipating that a strike from their antagonist could appear from any direction. "The only one behaving unusually around here is you. We did not intend you any harm by coming here. Return Dr. McKay to us and then we can further discuss your needs. It is unseemly to disrupt the grieving going on in this place."

The man looked casually over his shoulder and shrugged. "They neither see nor hear us. We are appearing as interesting as the landscape. Protest all you like, but do not try my patience. You _will_ meet with the Morrighan. All of you."

Ronon was looking like he wanted to start bashing something. Rodney kind of wished that he'd let loose and get around to it already.

Teyla raised her chin defiantly. "For what purpose? Why does your queen wish a meeting?"

"She needs you to carry out a special task and, there is much information to be shared between us, isn't there…" The man squeezed Rodney's wrist, giving him a penetrating stare, before focusing back on the others. "Isn't there… _John_?"

"Great things can be achieved when people work together," Teyla stated. "However, when someone wishes to be my ally, I respond more favorably to those who do not hold my friends captive."

"Ally? I cannot speak to that." His finger reached out to stroke Teyla's cheek and Rodney renewed his struggles, even aiming several kicks to sensitive areas. The blows connected, but the man paid them no heed, instead continuing on to say, "You, Teyla, have merely caught our interest; we are here for your John. Taking two of his companions is necessary to make sure he accepts our invitation. You will please the Morrighan, I think."

Rodney, who'd been in the midst of clawing ineffectually at the man's face — making contact, but seemingly having no result — was then treated to a withering look before he felt a lance of pain move through his head and, suddenly, both his arms went numb from the shoulder down.

"John?" Rodney begged, hating the quaver in his voice.

But John could only hear their mysterious attacker. "Like hell you're getting Teyla involved in this!" John spat, unaware of Rodney's predicament.

"Your mother never did teach you to mind your manners," the messenger lamented, before reaching out to —

"Teyla!" John and Ronon shouted.

"Rodney?" Teyla was looking at him.

He shrugged, his arms flopping around like pendulums. "We are so screwed."

She glared at him, then turned an even fiercer one upon the being holding them. "I will not go with you willingly."

The man regarded her. "You speak the truth." Teyla melted limply over his arm in what Rodney could only hope was a fit of unconsciousness. "How refreshing your honesty is."

John's fists knotted in frustration. "Let. Me. Talk. To. Them."

"Your female companion is currently indisposed, but I will allow you to speak to your Rodney. I hope he will impress upon you the urgency of the situation."

"Report, McKay."

"Sheppard?" Rodney cautioned. "Teyla's down. It looks like she's asleep."

With concerted effort, John relaxed his fists and folded his arms. "You've proved your point. Leave them be. I'll go with you willingly if you return them to the normal world and let them go unhindered and unharmed." John's barter was disconcertingly precise about the terms of the bargain on offer.

"Not a chance, cousin. We are now… _interested…_ in them." This was said with a hint of pointed lower incisors. "But, I shall grant you a piece of advice. Were I you, I would not dawdle if you value your companions. For the first eight hours, the rate of exchange will be a generous one day per hour. For the second eight hours, it shall be at a rate of one week per hour. After that, a month per hour. I do trust you can do the math and determine that the sooner you return home, the healthier your friends will be."

"Damn you. Let them go!"

"Sheppard?" Rodney hated the way his voice squeaked higher with nerves, but there was no help for it. "What's this mouth-breather talking about?"

"He's threatening to stick you inside a time dilation field, Rodney. You and Teyla sit tight."

"How could anyone on Earth have access to a time dilation field generator?" Rodney demanded, but John's face turned blank and he responded almost robotically.

"I'll make sure you get home. I'll be there as soon as I can."

Rodney swallowed. "Where's _there_?"

And this time, John just shook his head, not answering.

"Keeping things from your _cridhe_? Simply shameful, cousin. Hopefully your concern for your friends is not held in equal measure with your honesty."

"John, what's he talking about?" This time, there was no reaction on John's part, so strongly was the Lt. Colonel holding himself in check. Rodney tried again. "John!"

"It's time for us to go, now. Will you behave, or shall I make you like her?" the man asked him.

"Do what he says, Rodney."

Supremely unhappy with the situation, Rodney capitulated, but warned, "Do not mistake compliance for acceptance."

The man gave him an amused smirk. "I would not dream of it." The pain in Rodney's head abated some and feeling returned to his arms.

"Now tell me where you're taking me."

The smirk broadened. "Near to where some people call the Isle of Skye," the creature said, focusing his dark gaze on Rodney. "I believe you call it 'Scotland.' Watch your step, Dr. McKay. We will be traveling quite quickly. Come."

John's face turned frantic, eyes searching wildly for something unseen. "Rodney? Teyla? No! Take me and leave them alone! It's me you want."

Rodney planted his feet. The man couldn't drag him and Teyla both around. "Phase us back," Rodney demanded. "Right now. I'm not going anywhere with you."

The man gave him a sinister smile and it was now very clear that each of his teeth were entirely too pointy for Rodney's comfort. "By all means, Dr. McKay. Remain here. You will eat nothing, you will drink nothing, and when your _friend_ shows up to claim you, I will tell him quite rightly that you wandered off along the journey. It would not be an acutely painful way to die, but even could you monkeys manifest enough technology to return you to your proper plane of existence, it would not be nearly soon enough to prevent your untimely demise. Come with me, or die of dehydration. It's your choice."

"John?" Rodney asked softly, hoping that his kidnapper was still somehow permitting their voices to carry through to each other.

Sheppard bowed his head. "He's right. Go with him. I know where to find you and I'll be coming for you." He looked up, his hazel eyes hard and blazing. "Take care of Teyla."

"I will."

Resigned to their immediate future, Rodney took hold of Teyla's limp hand. He couldn't allow them to be separated. It would make John's rescue of them that much more difficult. They needed to be together when John came for them and Rodney didn't trust Mr. Light-socket Hair to not let her fall.

* * *

That sense of devotion to togetherness lasted only as long as Rodney's feet could keep up. Their captor had struck an inhumanly swift pace and in due course, Rodney had to either let go of Teyla's hand or trip.

He let go of Teyla's hand and grabbed hold of his knees, gasping for breath.

Most of the panting was for show, a stalling technique — anything to buy Sheppard more time — but the pain he was already feeling was real enough. They'd already traveled over a mile from the funeral site and, even with the relatively even terrain, Rodney's dress shoes were nowhere near as suited for the task as his padded combat boots might've been. "How much father?" he wheezed. "Are we walking the whole way?"

"We will arrive when we arrive, Dr. McKay."

Rodney glared. "How do you know my name?"

"Your mind is an open book to me and this one," he said, with a jounce to Teyla, "worries for you even in her slumber."

"Yeah, well, either wake her up or quit knocking her around like that."

Not deigning to answer, the man turned his back on Rodney and continued on, resuming his break-neck pace. "I recommend you keep up," he called back. "Your John would be most distraught if you happened to get lost upon the way."

But despite these words and although their abductor continued at his hellish pace, the man still stopped every so often, not looking back, but waiting for Rodney to draw a bit nearer, before continuing on.

As he moved, Rodney felt the urge to play while he was phase-shifted. He wanted to run his hands through normal items just for the sheer novelty of it, but he didn't fully trust the skills of the goon who'd taken him and Teyla, and so he manfully refrained. It was a close thing, though. And he may have slipped and "accidentally" kicked at stray rocks and run his fingers through tree trunks once or twice. Okay, four times, but it had been pretty cool.

The LOTR cast reject, for his part, ignored Rodney's forays through trees. Realizing, probably, that Rodney was going nowhere but where his captor wanted — not with the phase shift and Teyla being incapacitated. Rodney was a little worried at how easily the female warrior had gone down and although he kept looking for signs of her beginning to stir, he noticed nothing.

He was led a further three km or so (judging by the ache of his feet) before the goon turned away from the main road and down towards an abandoned storage shed. On his way through the wall, Rodney noticed that the entrance was chained and locked from the outside and looked like it hadn't been opened in years. A regular search party would bypass looking in such a place, even if his subcutaneous transmitter signal could have been picked up while phase-shifted.

The Fae took them through the wall of the building. Inside, it was dirty, but mostly empty of all but a few wooden crates and large sacks whose labels had long since faded.

"If you would ensure that your extremities are not in contact with anything else?" the goon suggested.

Rodney neurotically checked that there wasn't, say, a stray mop handle sticking through his torso, and waited. A shimmer in the air was the only signal that his electrons had returned to their previously scheduled orbits.

The man began to lay Teyla down, but the thought of her head on the grimy floor made Rodney cringe, so he quickly knelt. "Here, pass her to me."

The goon shrugged, and soon Teyla's upper-body was resting against Rodney's lap. Once she was settled, their captor retrieved what looked like a large drinking skin from an inner coat pocket and proceeded to unscrew the cap.

"Thirsty?" Rodney asked sarcastically. "You could have left us alone and spared yourself the effort."

"This isn't water," the man said enigmatically, then began to slowly pour the contents of the skin upon the ground.

The dark opaque liquid definitely didn't behave like water. Instead of splattering from the velocity or scattering like liquid marbles of mercury it flowed in a steady stream to the ground, only spreading out from its point of contact once a thickness of about 2 cm had been achieved. It was fascinating to watch. When the skin was empty, the puddle took up the same floor space as a very large ottoman and was about as thick as a squashed muffin.

Next, the man removed a rock and carefully placed it so that it was sitting half in and half out of the puddle. Upon contact, the liquid fluoresced and took on the same luminous, pale blue hue of an active wormhole event horizon.

"All right," the goon said. "Pass her here and step in."

Rodney had no intention of doing anything until he got some answers. "Is that —" He ran through possible alternatives in his head and came up with the fact that what he was seeing wasn't impossible, merely improbable, and definitely in re realm of possibility for a technologically advanced society. "Is that a portable stargate?"

The man looked confused.

"Uh…" He snapped his fingers, trying to spark his memory of the Ancient terminology. "Stargate. Astria porta?"

That got some recognition. "Astria porta, hm… I believe the Alterrans mentioned they were going to do something like that with our transport matrix."

"Where does it lead?"

"To my city. Do not worry," the goon said, lifting Teyla up into the cradle of his arms. "Your John will easily be able to find you, should he decide to come. He's been there before."

Without any viable alternatives and with those ominous, confusing words ringing in his ears, Rodney stepped into the shimmering puddle.

* * *

Mindful of the other funeral-goers, John cursed under his breath.

"C'mon." John tugged Ronon along, making plans in his head as they dodged against the flow of mourners that were trickling closer towards the gravesite. They got as far as the edge of the long drive before Ronon dug in his heels and jerked John to a halt.

"Sheppard," Ronon growled. "Talk to me."

"Teyla and Rodney will be okay, but the Court won't be letting them go until I make an appearance. I'm getting you back to the Mountain, and then I'm going to get them back."

"Quit talking like an idiot. The only place I'm going is with you."

John shook his head. Bringing another person along would just play into the Fae's hands — more people to use against him. He weighed the Court's unknown aspirations with how much more secure he'd feel if Ronon were backing him up, even without his blaster. Some of their gear was either in the car or back at the hotel, but Ronon's (and John's) favorite weapon had been held for safe-keeping at Stargate Command.

"Sheppard, they took Teyla and McKay. You're not going anywhere without me."

"Fine." He didn't think he'd have any secrets left at the end of this, but Ronon probably wouldn't hold them against him. Probably. "I don't like not knowing what they want."

Ronon shrugged. "Don't know. Don't care. We'll find out when we get there. Just lead the way."

John swallowed, instantly grateful.

"Thanks, buddy."

"Any time."

* * *

It wasn't that John didn't know how to contact the Fae. He did.

It wasn't that he wouldn't do absolutely anything and everything to retrieve the members of his team. He would.

It was the knowledge that the people he was dealing with were bound by no rules, no code of honor, could pull thoughts out of people's heads through the air, and could wink him out of existence without breaking a sweat. John had no idea what they wanted from him.

"Ronon."

The Sateadan tilted his head.

"Last chance to back out."

"Are you stupid?" Ronon asked.

"Uh."

Ronon, waited expectantly.

"Look, I —"

"You don't want me to come with you. Why not?"

And normally, Ronon hardly ever picked up on cues like that; when he was being so damn insightful it just threw John for a loop.

John took a breath, and actually thought.

"These people that we're going to go see? They scare the shit out of me." The look Ronon shot him was skeptical. "You know what I've fought against. You've fought alongside me. I'm afraid of them. Of what they'll do. Of what they want. Yes, some of them are family to me, but that doesn't mean the same thing to them that it does to me." He frowned and played with the safety on his gun. "I know you want to have my back. And I appreciate it. I need the help. But I won't be able to protect you from them if things go south. And it will go south. I know it."

"You're afraid of them." It wasn't a question, but John nodded anyway. "What has you so spooked?"

John sighed. "What has me spooked?" He considered how to begin. "Did your people have stories about people who were a bit different from you?" That was a stupid way to put it. "On my planet, there are stories we tell. About beings we call 'faeries.' Some are good, some are bad, but they're all different from humans. Sometimes they're tiny, sometimes they're taller. Some will help you, some will do their best to trick you out of everything you hold dear. They have powers, and I'm not sure why, or how, but they can do things… rip into your mind and steal your thoughts. They can steal you away from reality. They can snatch you up and return you to this world as an old man while the rest of your friends are young; or they can take you away for a night, but when you return, your friends are all dead and buried."

"Sounds like that, what was it, time dilation field you got stuck in a while back."

John's jaw dropped. "Huh. Yeah, that probably has something to do with it. But, Ronon, these people aren't Ancients. As messed up as the Ancients were, the Fae — my mother's people — are nothing like them. Where Rodney typically has reason to bitch about subroutines, experiments, and security measures the Ancients left running, some Fae actively enjoy causing harm. My mother saw my father on a business trip he'd taken and she fell in love. She disobeyed the laws of her people to be with him. They were surprised when I came along because she didn't know they could interbreed, but here I am."

"And there's your brother."

"Yeah." The reminder pounded a new serving of anger-steeped regret into his heart. "My brother." He shook the thought away. "Well, I probably should have mentioned this before, but it's not like I've had practice explaining this to anyone…" Ronon made a speed-it-up gesture and John rolled his eyes. "As it turns out, some of the beings the people of Earth call 'faeries' are actually a group of aliens that were originally once called the Nox. They have their own planet here in the Milky Way galaxy, but for some reason, a group of them were living on a hidden city here on Earth. Over time, myth and reality fed on each other until the population is no longer quite Nox, but not truly the Fae of legend. I haven't been back there since before my teens, and I wasn't planning on returning. My mother promised me she'd taken care of it." He swallowed and remembered that conversation. It was one of the last they'd shared before she died. She'd been adamant that he be allowed to marry for love. "It was supposed to be taken care of, but the most likely reason for all of this is that my grandmother might have gotten other ideas after all these years."

"You think your _grandmother_ had Teyla and McKay kidnapped? How is that even possible?"

John rubbed his knuckles across his brow in an effort to stave off his growing headache. "Because of what my cousin told me. The Morrighan is the supreme leader. In the years that I've been away, somehow, my grandmother's become the queen of the FaeNox."

It earned him a blink from Ronon. "That's big."

"Yeah," John agreed. "Big."

"So. What are we gonna do?"

"I'm going to make a call."

* * *

It felt like wormhole travel, but instead of the sensation of walking forward, it was like the universe's longest elevator ride down, capped by a sudden halt and reversal of direction. His head crowned the surface of a silver pool and he had the unique experience of feeling as if he were growing up at a rapid pace as he soon achieved his customary height. Aside from the giant liquid pool, the room around him could have passed for any of the smaller rooms used for recreation on Atlantis. The decor trended towards diaphanous green, gold, and while, and the walls were overgrown with thin, twisted woody roots or plants of some sort that trunked in swirled bunches up the walls and along the crown of the room.

He tested his footing on the thin layer of transport matrix — it was clearly a liquid, but it resisted pressure from his raised foot. It was like standing in a non-Newtonian fluid.

"You'll not want to linger here long. We don't use the lake to move far abroad very often, but hunting parties sometimes use it to travel to new areas. Collisions are not fun, so you'll want to move up a bit," the man said, striding forward himself. "This way."

While he was still reeling from the effects of travel, their captor let Teyla's limp body slide down to a cushioned ledge cut into the wall and promptly dragged Rodney out into a wide hall.

Rodney had no choice but to go where prodded and shortly found himself in a similarly appointed room, face to face with Mr. Light-socket Hair.

"How did we get here?" Rodney demanded. He'd tried to match the sensations he'd experienced with possible scientific means, but the closest he could come up with was some sort of compressed space-time theory that was disturbingly both similar and dissimilar to wormhole travel.

His captor sketched a mocking bow. "We walked and stepped into a puddle, Dr. McKay."

"Fine, be that way. Where the hell am I?"

"As I explained before, doctor, you are in Scotland, in my city, in a room and you will be staying with us as our guest until such time as your John sees fit to collect you from us."

"I'm in a room," Rodney repeated deadpan. "'We walked.' This? This is the stupidity I left behind when I —" He shut his mouth in time to prevent implying to his captors he knew how to travel beyond the borders of this galaxy. "I can see that I'm in a creepy, plant-infested room that my botanists would love to study, thank you very much. I would, however, be much more appreciative if you actually answered my question. But forget where. _Who?_ Who are you? And what the hell do you want with Sheppard?"

"With your John? Doctors are supposed to be smart where you're from, yes? We want John. That is all you need to know."

"Right. I'm just _bait_." Sheppard would have come for any one of them, even his estranged brother, but with both Rodney and Teyla taken, Sheppard ran the risk of not thinking clearly. Archimedes knew the man was foolhardy enough _without_ his friends' lives on the line. Rescuing them would be SNAFU business as usual.

"Mmm, I think not," the man commented, as he opened several panels along one wall. "These units contain food. Once the Revel field is activated, time will pass more quickly for you than those outside these walls. We will try to restock your room every day or so, but with the conversion ratio so high, the servants might miss by a few hours, but more food will be coming."

"One day per hour for the first eight hours, one week per hour for the second eight, and a _month_ per hour after that?" Right now he could easily die from dehydration in the space of three hours, but if John dallied past the 16-hour mark, Rodney could potentially starve to death in ten minutes!

"Calm yourself. I did not point out the issue so that you would fret, Dr. McKay, it was merely an explanation. Our servants here are quite practiced at administering to those within the Revel rooms — they are most often used for pleasure and no joy can be had when the wineskin's run dry. You will be well attended." He made motion to leave.

"I have allergies," Rodney blurted. "Citrus will kill me if I'm exposed and there are a few others, more obscure. I'll need to know exactly what's in the food being brought to me."

The smaller man turned back to him, one hand tightly catching Rodney's wrist and the other going to cup his temple and brow. The man's eyes closed in concentration.

It was a slowly creeping feeling, but in the space of a few seconds, Rodney's body was awash with heat, as if he'd stayed out overly long in the sun. The sensation of a burning in his skull became intense, to the point of dizzy pain, and then in an instant it was gone. His confused nervous system took several more seconds to adapt, but he felt perfectly fine once it did.

The man, who couldn't be fully human, let his hands drop. "You should not experience any further trouble from this point on, though I will not feel offended if you do not believe me. I took the liberty of lowering your blood pressure, as well, though that effect is only temporary."

"What?"

"You no longer possess any food allergies. It is not a simple thing to fix, but the difficulty is not unheard of among my people."

Rodney still felt lost. "How?"

"I am not just a warrior, Dr. McKay," the man said sharply, as if Rodney had struck a nerve. "I am a healer as well — one of the very few who are strong enough to work alone — and while I am forced to deal with you all, you would do well to treat me with courtesy."

" _Why?_ " And where had _that_ come from? If the man disliked him so much, why heal Rodney at all?

"Forgive me. You are right. My quarrel is not with you. Surely, you understand that should any harm befall you while you are in our care, your John would not react well. As I cannot spare the time to monitor your meals personally, it was easiest to correct your body's improper responses and remove the danger."

Feeling as if he was having three conversations at once, Rodney shook his head. "Who are you people?"

The man shrugged. "Why should I tell you when it's clear your John never did?"

* * *

Once on his own in the room, Rodney sank down onto the massively large bed. Unlike the more sedate decorations he'd seen in the Lake room and in the halls, this room was appointed in gaudy colors and somewhat tasteless and risqué pieces of artwork. If these were Sheppard's mother's people, Rodney just might be able to understand where Sheppard's taste for sparkly curtains came from. But while this place might look similar to Atlantis in physical structure, it was clear these people and the Alterrans had two very different ideas about what constituted a bed. He couldn't stop the sigh that escaped his lips as he relaxed back against the mound of pillows. By all the forefathers, this day had been too strange and too long.

For two entire days, Rodney stewed. He was brought food by wild-haired servants, but they would neither speak to him nor even meet his eyes. On the third day, his abductor returned to smirk.

"Hmm. Are you sure he's your John? He's not trying very hard to get here, I'm afraid to say."

Rodney forced himself to not rise to the bait. John needed every advantage he could get and Rodney wanted his captors to be lazy and complacent as possible. John would show up when they least expected him and Rodney would do well to help them underestimate the Colonel. Instead, he asked a question that had been bothering him.

"Where the hell is Teyla?"

"Your female companion? She is unharmed. We are merely curious about her origins and are asking her questions. You have no capacity to comprehend how pleased we are to discover an anomaly within this world we have mastered."

"Let's get some things very clear. One, don't tell me what I can and can't understand, because it pisses me off and I'll prove you wrong every time. Two, you will treat Teyla and myself with the utmost respect and courtesy."

His captor moved menacingly closer, baring his sharp teeth. "Or you'll what?"

"John's coming for me. And when I get out of here, if I find you've been anything less than benevolent and polite, I will throw everything that I am at you. And let me tell you, large-scale mass destruction is very old hat for me."

The man began to laugh, a wet, rasping sound. "I can see why he values you. Rest assured, we are acting on our best behavior. No human has challenged me as you just have and lived. You will get your answers once your John arrives. He is very long overdue for a chat."

 _No human_ , a corner of Rodney's mind gibbered, his earlier suspicions confirmed. "What do you want with him?"

"It's quite simple, Dr. McKay. We want for him to come home."

* * *

John cast about the hotel room, grateful that having a four-person suite gave him enough room to pace. He tried to focus on Ronon's solid presence through the tension of talking to his CO.

"It's not quite so simple, sir," John was telling General Landry. "I'm sure by now you've had our ships scan for Dr. McKay's transmitter. You didn't find it because it's being shielded."

"You're acting quite calm about all of this, Colonel."

"I know where my team members are being held and I believe, beyond any reasonable doubt, that Dr. McKay and Teyla Emmagen are not in any danger. This threat is intended for me, and I'm confident that if I'm allowed to retrieve them, they will be returned to the SGC unharmed and with all due speed."

"And yourself?"

John didn't have an answer for him.

"That's unacceptable, Colonel." The sound grew muffled, but John could still make out the General's voice through long familiarity as he ordered someone, "Prepare a team. We're going to retrieve our people."

"Sir, with all due respect, that's not going to work. You won't be able to breach their shields and if you did, the IOA would need to be involved."

"Where, exactly, have your people been taken, Colonel?"

John swallowed. "Scotland, sir."

"Scotland."

"Yes, sir. And, realistically, the Department of Homeworld Security should be involved, too."

The general made no attempt to cover his sigh. "This line is secure; how about your location?"

"We're secure here."

"Right. Home _world_ Security, John?"

John closed his eyes. "Yes, sir."

"Well then, can you be ready for beam-out in two minutes?"

"I'm not sure what all Rodney had packed, but there's equipment here in the hotel room and back in the car that needs to be secured. Give us ten?"

"Fine. Bring everything with you. You won't be coming back. You've just earned yourself a one-way trip to see General O'Neill."

* * *

John and Ronon sat across a wide table from General Jack O'Neill.

"Sir, at the risk of repeating myself, the longer we delay, the more worried I am at complications impacting the retrieval of my team members."

"What kind of complications are we talking about?"

"The people who took McKay and Teyla are in possession of an operational time dilation field generator. I was encouraged to make a swift journey because they threatened to keep McKay in the field until I arrived. The longer I'm delayed, the older he'll get."

"Colonel, I'm asking you this for the last time. Who took our people?"

John took a deep breath. "Descendants of the Nox have been living on Earth for thousands of years, in a city not unlike Atlantis. They're not the tree-hugging, non-interventionist type, sir."

"Find someplace else to be," the general told Ronon. "Don't go far."

John knew Ronon was looking to him for a signal, so he gave a slight nod.

O'Neill watched dispassionately as Ronon left and waited until the door had closed again before casting the full weight of his gaze on John.

"Where are you getting your information from, Colonel?"

"I've seen their city with my own eyes. My mother's papers were all faked. She was one of them."

General O'Neill pushed back his chair and began pacing the confines of the conference room.

"Your file lists her as deceased. Is that true?"

"As far as I know, yes. I was stationed overseas and my father wasn't able to inform me of her passing until a few weeks after the funeral."

"And the last time you had contact with these Nox, before today, was…?"

"I spoke with my mother twice after I joined up. I was ten the last time I visited their city."

O'Neill's eyes bored into him. "And if I don't lock you up in a cell as a homeworld security threat, what do you plan on doing now?"

"Getting to the city and getting my people out."

"And after that?"

"They wanted me there for a reason, sir. I don't know that I'll have the option of leaving."

"Unacceptable, Colonel. The United States government has a lot of money invested in you. You'll get your people out and you'll get your ass back here for the most intimately thorough debriefing you'll have ever sat through. Now, what type of team do you need?"

"Any additional military presence would be unwise, sir. Brute force isn't an option and a covert op's impossible too. It'll come down to me negotiating for their release."

"That's not on the table, Sheppard."

"Sir, I've read the SGC mission reports concerning the Nox. You've been involved in all of them. Their technology outstrips our own. I can't sneak up on something that's invisible and weapons will have no effect. It's an entire city, General, maybe even larger than Atlantis. The only way I'm getting Teyla and Rodney back is if the FaeNox let us go. I believe they're willing to do that, but they'll be wanting something from me first."

O'Neill ground his teeth. "And you don't know what that might be."

"No. They tried to reach me while I was overseas, but I've been operating under the understanding that my mother took care of it. She said they wouldn't bother me anymore, but never said what they actually wanted."

"The abilities displayed by the Nox, do you have them too?"

"Not really, sir."

"'Not really' doesn't mean 'no.'"

"No, sir, it doesn't. But I'm the same person now that I was a week ago. I haven't been entirely truthful about my abilities and I know I don't deserve it, but I could really use your support on this, General. I'll get them back. You won't be disappointed."

"I'm perturbed, is what I am," shouted O'Neill. "And the docs all say they want me calm… but then I have to deal with one bird colonels who lose key military assets in the parking lot of a luxury home in the Hamptons! I can understand why you might _want_ to rid yourself of McKay's charming personality, but there is a reason why we have not sent his annoying ass back to Siberia — we. need. him. And while the charming doctor has been trained in resisting interrogation and Teyla, even with a broken arm, would have no trouble wiping the floor with me — I don't like civilians in the position of being potentially interrogated! Are you reading me?"

It wouldn't come to that. There was nothing that Teyla knew that would be of interest to the FaeNox and Rodney's personality would most likely keep them out of his mind; but John swallowed back his words, knowing the general wouldn't appreciate them. "Yes, sir."

"Do what you have to do, Colonel. Keep me apprised and fix this."

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

Teyla sipped the fruity tea she'd been served and wondered, not for the first time, how these beings knew far more than they should.

"Tell me, Teyla Emmagen of Athos, what are your impressions of the humans walking the halls of Atlantis?"

"They are a strong people and will not react kindly to those who are disinclined to follow diplomatic channels to obtain what they want."

The older woman chuckled and drew a draught of wine. "Well said, my dear. Well said."

Ever since she'd awoken, Teyla had been polite, but unhelpful. The reaction of these people remained the same — amusement. Teyla was swiftly becoming weary of their attitude, but the Morrighan woman's abilities to know her private thoughts raised concerns. She set her mind to following a meditative pattern, but if the woman noticed, she did not comment. Directly.

"Call me Anann, dear. 'Morrighan' is a title I've only carried for a dozen years. You are a leader of your people, yes? It is fitting we greet each other as equals."

"I thank you for the courtesy, Anann," Teyla replied, manners firmly in place. "You may address me as Teyla."

Anann fingered the carved relief on the golden goblet she held. "Tell me, Teyla, do you miss your people? Not your closest companion, but the other… Athosians. You have lived apart from them for so many years. It would be difficult for you to reacclimatize yourself to living amongst them."

Teyla had told the Morrighan none of this, but still the woman knew. If this was an interrogation, it was certainly the strangest Teyla had ever participated in. She now strongly suspected that her captors were not human.

"It was difficult for me, at first, to live apart from them," she answered cautiously. "Living among the others has changed me and I have changed them. I have reflected on the matter multiple times over the years, but in the end, I am always welcome among them." Teyla suppressed a smile. She was always _very_ welcome in Kanaan's dwelling. She pressed a hand to her stomach. "People do not thrive in isolation. Where there is a sharing of goods and ideas, there is life."

"Very true. Well spoken. Believe it or not, my own people face such a similar situation. Long have we been separated from our brethren, but unlike the peaceful acceptance offered by the Athosians, there is unrest among my people. Some feel we have changed too much to return and some advocate for reunification at any cost, even though there has been no communication between our peoples for millennia. But the tighter I hold my leash, preventing the Fae from influencing the countries of Earth, the more they strain to be free. Really, we just need somewhere we can be free." Anann chuckled, as if she'd made a joke.

"I understand the sentiment of desiring freedom," Teyla returned smoothly, showing the points of her teeth in her smile.

"Indeed, my dear. Indeed. All in due time."

* * *

It was four exceedingly dull days after that when someone other than a food-bearing lackey entered Rodney's upscale cell. Unlike the others, this one was female and opulently draped in gold jewelry.

Rodney didn't bother getting up from where he sat on the bed. "Are you in charge here?"

"No, Dr. McKay, I'm not. Though, I am a daughter of those who are."

"Lovely," Rodney snapped. "That makes you, what, a middle-aged princess?"

She bit her lip, doing a piss-poor job of masking her smile. "Effectively, yes. Not quite Carrie Fisher, am I?"

That depended on the decade, Rodney thought, then looked at her sharply for the pop culture reference. "Well, I don't care who or what you are. You'll just have to turn around and march back out the way you came in. I'm not doing or saying a damn thing more until I can see for myself that the woman taken with me is unharmed."

"Taranis has kept you separated this entire time?" she asked, sounding surprised.

"If you're talking about the pompous ass who dumped me in here, then yes. Other people have been traipsing in and out with food, but they don't speak at all. It's been over a _week_. And the threat on the table is that I'll experience a week per hour next."

"Oh, dear. I'm very sorry for what's happened, Dr. McKay. I didn't realize until I came to see you that my nephew had put you in one of our Revel rooms. Time flows faster in this room than it does outside."

"Yes, I understand and appreciate the concept, thank you," Rodney snapped.

"Though it has only been a short while for your companion, I understand your concern for her. I'll escort you to her now."

Rodney blinked. "You're letting me out? Just like that?"

"Of course. I do not share the hopes of Taranis and his mother. I just want my family safe."

"Fine, lady. I'll believe it when I see it."

She motioned for him to step through the door.

* * *

Venturing deeper into the city, Rodney noticed that the concept of _doors_ wasn't as fully grounded a structural theory. His cell had certainly had one, but most rooms he passed were marked by archways and breezy veils. Seemingly at random, she motioned him past one of the veils and all of the background noises he'd grown used to fell silent. Rodney looked at the diaphanous material. He could _see_ the hallway, where the edges of the veil had curled away from the walls, but it was as if a meter of concrete were separating him from the world outside.

"I realize you have many questions, but I would prefer to address them all at once." She motioned him more fully into the apartment — for that was what it appeared to be. The room was almost trapezoid in shape, with the rest of the space fanning out from the narrower entrance. Rodney could identify a kitchen, large dining table, and an area for casual seating where — Teyla sat. Rodney rushed to her side, looking for any signs of maltreatment.

"I appreciate your concern, Rodney, but I am fine. I have been well-treated by the FaeNox."

"Fae…Nox?"

Teyla tipped her head at the woman who'd taken him from his cell. Rodney wasn't sure if that was an answer or a warning. Rodney put himself between Teyla and the woman.

"What is this place and why are we here?"

"Please sit down, Dr. McKay. I do believe my John would wish for you to make yourself at home. You are in the dwelling prepared for him when he was but a small child."

"John?" Rodney sat, but it was more out of necessity than a conscious desire. "John Sheppard?"

The woman smiled. "That was the surname of the man I married decades ago."

He and Teyla exchanged a glance. Teyla looked like she knew something and Rodney tried to ask her with his eyebrows, but she didn't (or wouldn't) communicate back to him.

"I understand," she said, "there is much you cannot yet tell us, but I believe Dr. McKay would be more _comfortable_ —" and Rodney heard _pleasant_ "— passing the time discussing technology. If you are amenable?"

"Is that so?" John's mother inquired.

Being stuck in a room for over a week had given Rodney plenty of time to come up with questions.

"Absolutely." And just maybe he could work some sort of deal out with these FaeNox before Sheppard even arrived.

She offered him a winning smile that Rodney recognized from Sheppard's mouth. "I'll do my best, then."

"Great." Rodney clapped his hands and rubbed them brusquely, wondering if she'd consent to bring him a tablet for notes. "Let's start with how much you know about wormhole travel."

"Hardly anything at all," she replied, "but I know just the person who'd love to talk to you."

Leverage. The thing about physics was that pretty much everything in the universe could be explained by opposing forces. It could all be explained by leverage. And now he was going to get some.

* * *

The layout and construction of the Fae city, vine-covered though it was, was uncannily near-identical to Atlantis. There was very little doubt in Rodney's mind that the cities had the same builders or had at least been fashioned from the same plans. The one glaring dissimilarity to the comparison was the lack of ATA-dependent systems. Granted, Rodney hadn't been able to spend any time on his own exploring, but the entire Fae city seemed to operate on regular, push-button technology. Which begged the question, if they didn't want John for his super-ATA gene, what did they want him for?

He smiled in all the right moments while John's mother (Dana) introduced him to her own father (Liam) who, yes, was also spouse to "the Morrighan," whom Teyla had already met. While Rodney had some half-formed idea of what the Fae king's laboratory would look like, based on his own knowledge of Atlantis' layout, he was wholly unprepared for the reality. The FaeNox king's lab was in the central spire of the south-east pier, he'd been told as they moved through the halls. Dana bid them goodbye as he and Liam entered into the lab. This building, at least, had a decent set of doors, and not the weird veils.

Rodney stepped through and had to both catch his breath and quickly amend his preconception that the lab was _in_ the tower. It would have been more correct to say the lab _was_ the tower. King Liam proudly described how he had converted the interior structure of the building to allow for an open center column up nearly the entire height of the tower, leaving doughnut-shaped floor levels and one hell of a view from the top floor.

At the bottom-most level was a pulsating energy core powering the facility and visible from the higher levels. Liam had explained that the floor partitions between the lower levels and the energy chamber were very heavily shielded and in the event of an emergency, thick blast doors over the mouth of the opening and along the open sides of the other levels would minimize an explosion's effect, channeling a physical blast straight up and out.

Part of the core's level, in its own separately shielded environment, was a space for more volatile and high-risk experiments. Above the water level, on the first floor, were facilities for biological studies — mostly plants and animals, he was reassured. One floor up were labs for medical research. Above those was a very tall floor — the ceiling was at least at 30 m — for mechanical dabblings. Oversized bay doors set in the walls allowed easy passage in and out of the large room. Further up was a level devoted to nanoengineering and littering the shelves were all sorts of Ancienty-looking gadgets that Rodney's fingers just itched to touch. Higher still was a library and on the topmost floor was an astronomical observatory.

Rodney had spent most of the tour in overwhelmed speechlessness. It was one thing to stumble across an immaculate (if sometimes dusty) lab that had been abandoned thousands of years in the past. It was quite another to be shown various experiments in mid-stream with the knowledge that not only were the labs in use, there was also an extremely knowledgeable scientist around who understood what was being done. After presenting several deep space scans, Liam showed Rodney down to a comfortable chair in the library

"My daughter and grandson led me to believe that you were a man of many words, Dr. McKay. Has my lab stunned you into silence?"

"Maybe," Rodney muttered and snarked, "Is this one of those situations where you're going to kill me now that I've seen too much?"

The king tilted his head in confusion. "If viewing my lab would cause your death, why would I initiate such an offer?"

Rodney shook his head. "Never mind. I — Yes, well, I'd obviously like to examine some things in greater detail, but there are limits on what I can share with you without authorization," he cautioned, as if the thought of sharing information worried him some. A negotiated trade would likely be beneficial to them both and Rodney was keenly interested in how the Fae were getting the energy to run the city. "It wouldn't be even remotely a fair trade," he hinted, trying to inject some disappointment into his words. The Fae were all acting as if he and Teyla would be released without question once Sheppard showed up, but Rodney needed to make sure Sheppard came back to Atlantis with them. If he had to trade technology to do that, so be it; it wouldn't be the first time. Sheppard would need backup, so Rodney would do his best to manipulate the situation before Sheppard arrived.

"Ah. I understand your concerns, but you are forgetting something, doctor. Knowledge shared is never lost, only multiplied. There are very few of my people who value science of any kind and fewer still have any interest in participating. Rarer still are the few who have a talent for it and my last apprentice was killed in a hunting accident. It would please me to share my successes and failures with one who would appreciate them, without any expectation of reciprocation of any kind. It says much in your favor that your John cares greatly for you and that you hold him in similar regard."

"What? How do you — _My_ John? _My John?_ Everyone's been saying that. _My John_. Can you begin this knowledge sharing by explaining _that_ for me?"

"Certainly. When my grandson, Taranis, went to entice our Jonquil into returning to us, he was forbidden from compelling Jonquil or physically bringing him. It was promised as such to his mother."

Rodney opened his mouth to ask questions like _Jonquil? His mother?_ but Liam lifted a finger commanding silence.

"Taranis could tell that Jonquil would require motivation to return home and he luckily noticed that Jonquil considered himself bound to you. He correctly determined that Jonquil would follow after you. You know Jonquil as John and he is yours. Both my daughter and I honor his selection and acknowledge it by our use of the phrase 'your John.' Others among us may use our customary phrase as an insult — that he has bound himself to a human — but I assure you, I harbor no such ill intent."

Rodney felt himself flush. "Um. I'm fairly certain that you and that smarmy ass who took me have gotten the wrong impression here. John and I work together fairly closely, but he hasn't chosen me for anything."

Liam's gaze turned penetrating and Rodney felt a barely-there sensation in his mind, as if a feather-weight, lightning-fast child were ice skating across the surface of it. "My apologies, Dr. McKay. I see it is not my place to speak of such things. Should you wish to enquire again, either John himself or his mother are more suited to have this discussion with you."

Rodney was left with the distinct impression that the matter was settled, even though he'd been given no answer of any kind. "Right."

Liam smiled pleasantly. "May I present a peace offering, perhaps? I think you'll appreciate the use of this while you're here," the king said, pulling out what looked to be a tablet computer, thinner even that what Rodney was used to. Rodney looked wistfully at the tablet, but with the man offering it to him it had to be laced through with spying protocols. Maybe later, after he'd had a good couple of hours to check the thing out… A chuckle interrupted his plans. "Lad, I have no need to spy on your notes. There's not a thought in your head that even the youngest child among us couldn't pluck out of your head."

Rodney's blood washed cold. "That was you, rummaging in my head just now. And you all have been doing it to Teyla and me since before we got here? That's how that LOTR freak knew my name and, oh gods, I…" He started hyperventilating. John was being lured here and he was walking into a trap and Rodney had just…

"Easy," the king commanded, stretching out a hand to grip the back of Rodney's neck. A surge of power jolted through Rodney's body and finally the oxygen caught and held in his lungs. "You certainly are quite temperamental," Liam observed mildly. "None of you shall come to harm while you are here. I am on my daughter's side in this. Your John will be allowed to leave once he has provided the aid which only he can provide."

"John." How long had it really been since the funeral? Where was Sheppard?

"Be at ease. He will arrive when he arrives and once he does, it will be several hours at least before he will be able to spare you any time." At Rodney's puzzled look, the king explained, "You didn't know that John's mother was still alive. It'll take some time for that bit of trickery to be sorted out. In the meantime, there's plenty for us scientists to look over. What in my laboratory interested you the most, doctor?"

Whether by magic or in a near-Pavlovian response, all thoughts of John flitted away as the possibilities poured out of Rodney's mouth.

* * *

John hired a 20' motorboat in the small village of Gairloch, Scotland. From there, he headed southwest, aiming for a landmark on the far shore his mother had taught him. As he drew nearer to the deeper water, he felt the compulsion try to take hold of him. His hand ached to turn the boat away and head back to shore, but he stayed his course.

The ocean surrounding them was calm, but a fair breeze chopped the water and Ronon looked vaguely nervous as he peered over the side of the boat.

"Haven't you ever been on a boat before?" John asked.

"Smaller, quieter fishing boats. Big difference. Jack Sparrow may dress like a woman, but any man who is willing to spend that much time on the ocean is a total badass."

John coughed. "I'll let the SEALs that transferred to the city in the last rotation know you think so," he managed to say. "Well, sit tight. It's not that much farther."

Ronon frowned, judging the distance between the shore and their position.

"We're not going all the way across," John explained. "There's a city out here. Like Atlantis. Maybe even bigger. I never saw her fully uncloaked, but I was a lot smaller the last time I was here. Everything looked big from my perspective."

"How will we know when we get there?"

"Not sure. My… my mother was guiding the boat last time. She said I'd just know."

The compulsion to turn back was growing even stronger, but beneath it, John could feel a tugging hum, almost like the feeling he got from Atlantis' Ancient tech. As they drew nearer still, the urge to leave diminished entirely in the wake of the pull of the Fae's city. The boat travelled just a bit farther and then the world rippled around them as they passed through whatever barrier the Fae had cast. Above and around them stretched the city.

John really hadn't remembered it well from his childhood. Seeing it now, having lived on Atlantis, he couldn't help but compare the two in his mind.

Both were cities on the water, but where Atlantis was spires and piers, the Fae city was mounds and valleys with only the occasional spire. Where Atlantis was metal and glass, the Fae city was grass, wood, stone, and crystal. The buildings were terraced, with wide, oversized balconies just the perfect size for a pair of the flying horses that were scattered in the air above them. Ronon's mouth opened in wonder.

John held a deep breath then released it. It had truly been too long and the sight of his mother's land reminded him of all the reasons he'd never returned — of all the reasons he could never let himself share his life with anyone.

"It's better to be alone," he reminded himself. But the moment the words were out of his mouth, John realized just _who_ was accompanying him — a man who'd been a Runner for seven long years. Ashamed, he hung his head and waited for Ronon to call him out.

When the other end of the boat was silent, save for the lap of water, John looked up.

"What?" Ronon grunted.

"Aren't you… I mean… I thought you might have something to say about that — about being alone."

Ronon snorted. "I do. I've definitely got something to say, Sheppard. But you're not ready to hear it, so I'm not gonna waste my breath." He paused. "Those are flying horses up there, right?"

"Yep."

"Interesting." Ronon's muscular torso rippled and flexed as the man stretched. One long finger was brought to his ear and twisted about until Ronon seemed satisfied. The taller man inspected his fingertip closely, flicked some invisible fleck overboard, then cracked his neck twice. "You let me know when you're ready to listen."

"Right. Yeah," John bit out. Then he caught sight of Ronon's _look_ , and let a hint of a smile turn up the corners of his mouth. "You got it, buddy. Let's do this."

* * *

A man stood out on what looked to be a dock, waving. John steered the boat towards him, cutting the engine halfway there and coasting in on their momentum to kiss up gently against the moorings. Ronon was apparently experienced enough with boats, despite his dislike of them, because he helped secure their vessel before offering John an arm up to the dock. John cast the Fae man a look meant to intimidate.

"Cousin, we meet again" the Fae greeted him. Now that they were closer, John could see it was the same one from before and glared. The man merely executed a half bow. "I am Taranis. On behalf of our grandmother, I bid you welcome, John Sheppard. You and your companion will follow me."

Stiff shouldered, Taranis turned and walked towards a doorway set into the side of what looked like a cliff face. He walked with the assurance of one readily obeyed and did not turn to see if they followed.

Ronon shrugged. "After you, Sheppard."

John set his jaw and followed.

Inside the city, the nature theme continued. It was almost like being inside a hive, with walls that looked (and probably were) organic. And running water flowing alongside the walking paths and splashing down crystal structures at the corners of the halls. Greens and browns dominated the color palette, but here and there, accents of vibrant orange and iridescent purple drew the eye. At the same time, the layout reminded him of Atlantis.

Taranis led them to a large, open chamber.

"Our grandmother will see you now."

Mentally bracing himself, John stepped forward.

"Just him," came the Fae's voice.

Ronon looked ready to follow John's lead, wait or fight.

"He can wait here," Taranis instructed. "This will not be a long meeting."

John nodded. If the Fae wanted either of them dead, John wouldn't be able to prevent it. "Back in a bit," he assured Ronon.

Taranis had said that their grandmother had taken on the mantle of Morrighan, but the queen John remembered, wizened though she may be, had seemed to have had many more years left in her. It bothered him that things had changed so much while he'd been gone.

John paused at the veiled archway and rolled his shoulders, trying to get rid of the feel of being watched. The sensation was making his skin crawl. Not to mention, the pomp and circumstance surrounding "seeing his grandmother" was just plain odd. From what he could remember as a child, his mother's mother was a strong woman, one not yet past her prime and readily obeyed. She was respected and, yes, feared, but there had not been this much ceremony. John and his mother had simply met the older woman in her rooms. This chamber, whatever it was, was far from ordinary. Her becoming the Morrighan didn't entirely explain it.

At Taranis' prodding, he brushed aside the veil, stepped through the archway, and entered a room that was, surprisingly, smaller than the one he'd left Ronon in.

On a circular gazebo, draped in sheer silks and velvety cushions, reclined the woman John recognized to be his grandmother. As glib as he'd been to the Fae muscle who'd taken Rodney and Teyla, disrespecting the woman wouldn't be wise.

John nodded his head in respect and remained silent, waiting.

"You have grown, son of my daughter. I trust you had no difficulties in joining us here?"

He was tempted to remain silent, pretending he'd perceived the question as being rhetorical, but there was a glimmer of care in her eyes.

"It was uneventful, grandmother." He swallowed. "I understand that you can crush me without lifting a finger and I have a healthy respect for that, but let me make myself perfectly clear — I am not doing a single damn thing for you until I see for myself that my people are unharmed."

"Yes, the wise man sees to the comfort of his horse first," she agreed.

"Rodney and Teyla mean a great deal more to me than any horse," John returned tartly.

"Any horse? Even Scáth? Hm. Well, you've grown. I did not mean to upset you, Jonquil."

"Under the circumstances, I do not know how else I might be expected to feel. Your man _took them_ from me."

"He was instructed to bring you here without influencing your mind or causing you harm. I can find no fault with how he carried out his task."

"No fault? He involved people in matters that don't concern them!"

At this, his grandmother's eyes sharpened. "You claim your Rodney has no interest in knowing of us? How interesting."

John's blood froze cold. He knew those words. "He's not _my_ Rodney. You've got it wrong."

"Peace, Jonquil. You and your _friends_ will be treated as guests. The vibrant Teyla and your Rodney have been staying in your home for nearly all this time."

"Nearly? There was a threat involving a Revel room. I have no doubt that it was carried out. How long were they in there?"

"Your female companion was spared entirely. Your Rodney, however, made your cousin quite cross and spent a little over a week's time inside."

Half a dozen worries clamored for attention in John's mind. "I will see them both. Now."

She stood to meet the challenge in his voice. "You may be the eldest son of my youngest daughter, but you will mind the manners I know your mother taught you."

He folded his arms and analyzed her reaction to his tone, evaluated the chances that he could speak more directly without turning this situation into more of a clusterfuck than it already was.

"NOW. _Please_."

"Jonquil!" « _Do not defy me!_ » — The words had been spoken directly into his mind.

He made a deliberate show of glancing around the room and pasted on a false smile. "This place is fancier than I remember. I love what you've done with the place. Moving up in the world?"

"Circumstances have changed since you last visited." With shrewd smile, she continued, "When you were here with your mother, we made pains to keep you away from this city's leaders. As I am now the Morrighan, these chambers are now mine and that precaution is no longer needed."

The Morrighan. The _Queen_ of the Fae, holding even more power than the King due to the society's matrilineal nature.

He lowered one knee to the ground and bent his head. "Please. Let them go. I don't know what you want with me, but I'm here."

"The moment you set foot upon the paths of my city, they were free to leave. Whether or not they do so is not up to you alone. Jonquil, I know not what kind of man you have become, but I had you brought here in the hope that you turned out to be worthy of all the sacrifices made on your behalf. It is not yet time to reveal the true reason you are here."

"Then let me see my friends!"

His grandmother held up a forestalling hand. "In time. Very soon, yes. But first…" She looked upon him with gentle, compassionate eyes. "Your mother would like to see you."

 _What?_ Footsteps sounded behind him and the world started to spin.

"Hello, John."

* * *

She'd listened as her firstborn had demanded to see his companions. Her John had always been intensely loyal, full of fight, and unshakable in his devotion. She was painfully aware of the sorrows he had experienced, so bright in his mind they were.

She entered at her cue. Her greeting was unbearably plain after their long separation, but calling him "duckling" as she'd longed to would have denied the fine man that he'd become. He turned at the sound of her voice and drank in the sight of her, much as she was doing with him. In moments, his face had gone pale and his breaths were coming too quickly. She went to him and placed her hand upon his cheek, keeping her reading at the physical level only and checking him for signs of shock or concealed injury. Still, the yearning to touch his mind was strong… too strong.

« _My John!_ »

« _Mother?!_ »

His hands locked on hers, strong and unforgiving as iron, and his gifts flared up, washing over her and through her, seeking for any evidence that this was a deception or trick.

Gently, she pushed back his frantic probing and washed love and reassurance over their mental link. Drawing him closer to her, she offered up her favorite memories of him. The day he was born — a loud, wriggling thing with wild hair and pointed ears and a beet red color the nurse assured her was perfectly healthy. His first smile. The day he'd scored his first goal. The time he'd returned home to her dirty, bloody, and bruised, but grinning from ear-to-ear because he'd finally been able to teach Pedro's bullies a lesson.

He closed his eyes and clung to her.

"Dad told me you'd died. You left him?"

There was pain in his voice. « _You left me?_ » he was really asking.

"No, John. My body really did die. Patrick did as he promised and alerted my family. They arrived in time to revive me, but too many outsiders had been alerted to my death, so I could not return. It was not safe to send a message to you through your military. I kept waiting for you to come home, but you never did."

He wrapped her up tight in his arms and buried his face in her shoulder. « _Mom._ »

Dana sent a half-formed thought at her mother and was grateful when the woman left them without comment.

John drew a shuddering breath.

"Shhhh," she soothed. "I know." She touched his temple. "I can see how hard it's been for you and I'm so sorry you carried an unnecessary burden." But as much as he yearned to stay by her side, she knew her son had a bone-deep need to see that his friends were unharmed. She could see now. As much as he was Rodney's John, so too was the doctor John's Rodney.

She could feel her boy mentally brace himself for pulling away and Dana eased their separation by directing a mental hug in his direction.

John fixed her with a look. "Do you remember show and tell from when I was little? It's time and I want some answers." His words were accompanied my images of the letter he'd received alerting him of her death.

"Patrick did as he promised and alerted my family immediately after my death — they gave him very specific instructions for my burial. It was a simulacrum encasing a skeleton that was buried that day. My family had already retrieved my body and revived me using their healing techniques." She feathered her fingers through his hair. "I'm sorry I didn't let you know sooner."

"Well, Dad thought you _did_ die and because of my posting, it took a few weeks for him to tell me, so…" His forehead pressed against hers. He was angry and shocked and, oh, so very lonely. The affection she felt from Rodney towards her son wasn't reaching John's heart. He was holding himself back, even as he addressed his need to ensure the doctor's safety. "I don't know what to think about you right now, but I need to see my people."

"I understand. They've been staying in your home. I'll lead the way." Almost instantly, she felt his apprehension. Rejoining his companions could cause him much pain if her son had not chosen his friends wisely. "Take a moment to breathe. I'll wait for you just outside."

As she exited, she hailed the tall warrior who had accompanied her son. Like other warriors she had contact with, he had not relaxed against a wall or in a seat, but had kept himself loose and alert for potential threats. He paused as she drew near.

"Taranis said you're Sheppard's mother?" he asked, voice low.

"I am."

"The others are fine?"

"Yes, of course. I'll be bringing you to them now."

He nodded. "Because you're his mother, I'll warn you. I'm not like the others. They're patient and solve problems with words and treaties." He looked her dead in the eye. "Don't present me with a problem that I'll have to solve. You won't like the way I do it."

She touched him on the arm and scanned his thoughts, the motion as light and non-threatening as she could make it. _Protect_ and _Mine_ were foremost in his mind. He wasn't looking to cause trouble, but he was more than prepared to take care of any trouble that found them.

"I understand, Ronon Dex. Thank you for your consideration. Once John joins us, I'll lead you to Teyla and Dr. McKay."

If he was surprised at her use of his name, he did not show it.

Dana smiled. She was pleased to know her John had surrounded himself with such loyal friends.

* * *

The mental map John had to the home set aside for him at the age of seven, grew clearer the closer he got. Memories of the place, of that time, came too. Even back then, John's family was quite powerful, so the residence always seemed oppressively large to him. He wondered what he'd think now that he was older, and several feet taller.

His mother opened the door and John rushed through, immediately seeing Rodney and Teyla sitting beside each other on a soft couch. Steeling his resolve not to make a fool of himself, he went to Teyla first, wrapping his arms around her and bending his forehead to hers. He took the moment of physical contact to scan her surface thoughts, but relished her comforting touch all the same.

"You're well?" he asked, anxious, even though there was no hint of peril in her mind.

"Although very curious about my people," she replied, "the Fae have been gracious hosts."

Rodney snorted. "Speak for yourself." But it was said with the scientist's typical, disparaging mutter, so John let the comment slide for now. Dealing with Rodney would come soon enough.

He placed a hand on Teyla's shoulder. "Truly, everything's all right?" He waited for her to return the gesture. If she gripped his elbow, or her own, he would know he'd missed some sign of duress.

She enfolded him into a strong hug. John held on and scanned her again, just to be sure, but all he could pick up was that she was pleased to see him.

Teyla beamed at him. Her relief at seeing him unharmed, palpable even without his abilities. "It is _good_ to see you, John. We were worried for you."

"I'm fine," he reassured them. "McKay?" he finally let himself ask.

Rodney, true to form in his relief, flipped quickly from dismayed to annoyed. The scientist scratched deliberately at his arm close to, but not touching, the elbow; his scowl reassuring John that whatever bug was up Rodney's butt, it wasn't too serious.

"Huzzah, huzzah, the gang's all here. Now, will someone," he fixed John with a piercing gaze, "explain to me why we've been kidnapped by Snap, Crackle, and Pop? All I've been able to drag out of these tight-mouthed fairies is that they're called the FaeNox and that they have technological capabilities that make me cream my pants."

John choked and looked around for his mother, but it appeared she'd left the four of them alone to reunite. "Nice description, McKay," John said sarcastically, but the moment of disturbing levity had broken much of the tension in the room. Ronon no longer looked like he wanted to pulverize something.

Teyla touched him on the shoulder to gain his attention. "That was Dana at the door, was it not? She has explained her situation to you?"

And just like that, Rodney went from mouthy back to concerned. "John?"

"Yeah, we talked." From the looks of it, his friends were not going to be content with that simple of a statement. "I'm fine," he hastened to reassure them, but the words had the opposite effect. Even Ronon was scowling at him now. "It's a lot to take in, her being alive and all, but I'll be okay.

"Right," Rodney said, moving the conversation brusquely along, much to John's relief. "I wasn't exactly exaggerating about the technology in this place."

"Ew, McKay," John complained, mostly because he had a hard enough time _not_ thinking about Rodney's pants on a normal day.

The scientist rolled his eyes. "Focus, please, _my John_ ," he said with an eye roll. John's blood ran cold. What had Rodney been told? "The people here are insane, you know that? But insane or not, I'd testify that it's mission-critical we stay here and learn more. I'm not sure why it took you so long to get here, considering the methods of transportation at your particular disposal, but I'll let you know that Teyla and I arrived here by a horizontal event horizon created by a puddle and some rocks." He fixed John with a sharp look. "Is that why you were so insistent on naming them _puddlejumpers_ , Sheppard? Did you see 'gate ships here first?"

Still caught up in wondering about the 'my John' moment, John tried to shy back at the sudden hostility directed at him, but he backed into the edge of another seat and went down hard. "Huh?"

"How much is this city _really_ like Atlantis and do they have gateships here to go with their magic puddles? If you played idiot while it cost us lives, Sheppard —"

"Rodney! It is very clear that John has kept many things from us, but you do your friendship a disservice to speak to him so.

"Teyla, thanks, but I'd be upset too. McKay, buddy, I knew about the city here and that Atlantis looked familiar, yes, but around here, the Fae fly horses for fun, not spaceships. I don't know anything about magic puddles. I spent about a month here, total, when I was a kid — and not some _genius_ kid either, like some people." He ran his hand through his hair, trying to massage his headache away. "Mom told me you were stuck in the time dilation field for a bit. I'm sorry I didn't get here sooner, but the SGC needed convincing. They wanted to send a tactical team to retrieve you, and I couldn't let that happen. I know I've not been completely up-front with all of you, but I had my reasons, and I'm sorry."

"Fine," Rodney answered mulishly. "You still have a lot to answer for, but I'll finish my report first. None of the day-to-day tech in the city requires the ATA gene, but I don't think it's natural. Your grandfather's laboratory has bits and bobs I was able to activate with my ATA gene. I turned on equipment he said had been dormant for _millennia_. Out here, the Fae have adapted, found alternatives for the technology, but this place used to be a home for gene carriers. Look around you, Sheppard. All the doors are gone. Why is that?"

"Not everybody likes doors, McKay," Ronon pointed out.

Rodney made a face. "Yes, but then what would wookiees have left to bash?"

"Rude scientists?" Ronon asked with a venomless smirk.

"Seriously, Sheppard. Have you looked at the arches? Really looked? They used to have doors there. Every time you get kidnapped it's because of your damn ATA gene. Think about it. Two societies on Earth, thousands of years ago, with giant advanced cities, _and_ wormhole technology. They were both probably here on the planet at the same time. Which leads me back to you knowing far more than you've been telling us, Colonel."

"I just got here, McKay! What do you want from me?"

"I want to know what you know. Is this city alive like Atlantis? My gene's not strong enough to get any sort of feeling, but I'm betting yours is."

John swallowed. Rodney knew — knew John had lied. Rodney might not know the particulars, but lack of proof or a reason never stopped a person from loathing someone else. He closed his eyes, not ready to have this talk.

"Sheppard can feel it." Ronon answered, startling them all. "He mentioned it in the boat on the way here."

"There! See?" Rodney exclaimed, pointing. "Which means Zed-PMs. And they'll have a way to replenish them, because the way they make use of the time dilation fields means they've got to be burning through them by the truckload." And through Rodney's excitement, he could see disappointment in his friend's face.

But truly, the implications had never really crossed John's mind. "Rodney, I swear to you, when I was a kid, it didn't feel like this, like the city was singing to me. I would've remembered. I knew there were similarities between here and Atlantis, but I didn't think they'd have anything useful to offer us in the fight against the Wraith. Most of the people here like hand-crafted tools and think hunting deer is the pinnacle of fun. And you say my grandfather has all this cool stuff, but I've met the man exactly _once_ , in my mother's home. He shook my hand, and that was about it."

"If you'll pardon the interruption," his mother said. Somehow she'd entered without him noticing. And then he remembered the glamours and realized that she could have been standing there the entire time, through Rodney's talk of creaming and all. "Now that you've taken care of the pleasantries of seeing one another again, I think it's time I stepped in to explain a few things."

"I believe we all would welcome enlightenment on why we are here," Teyla said.

John glanced over at Rodney. _Truce?_ he implored with his eyes.

McKay's defenses lasted a few breaths more, then relented and he motioned with his chin to John's mother, granting John a stay of execution until he could hear all the facts.

* * *

His mother laid a comforting hand on the back of his neck and he felt a tendril of healing chase away the headache that had been growing ever since McKay'd opened his mouth. She gave him a knowing look for that stray thought, but mercifully didn't comment.

"Dr. McKay, John is quite innocent of all this. Both of his trips to the city were necessarily brief and I chose to shield much of the situation from him. And… I do need to apologize for having lied to you, John. You'll remember, of course, when the family tried to contact you years back."

"You said you'd taken care of it."

She looked down. "I thought I had, but then circumstances changed. The lie that I've told you is that I met your father on a business trip and fell in love." She pulled a brilliantly shining crystal from a pouch and set it on the table. It dimmed some, when it left her hand, but still shone brilliantly. "The truth is that I carried this crystal with me and deliberately set out to seduce the strongest man I could find who carried _anam_. I did fall in love with him, but that was years later, after you'd been born. Your rare ability to interact with this city was no accident, my son. Mother intends to have you fly the city back to the FreeNox homeworld."

John stood up, backed away. He didn't know where he meant to go, but he had to leave.

Ronon moved to intercept. "She's your mother, Sheppard," he said, pressing John down into his own seat. "Let her finish speaking."

"No," John said. "It doesn't matter. I have my orders. My friends go free, right now. And then you can talk to me about getting this bucket to fly."

That pronouncement drew a chorus of protest from all _but_ his mother. Rodney won, by sheer dint of determination.

"Colonel, there's a closet full of Zed-PMs around here somewhere. You think I'm going to walk away now? Fat chance."

'Fat chance,' Ronon mouthed. "What does that even mean, McKay?"

"It means there's no way in hell I'm leaving if John's staying."

" _Rodney_. No." John was so serious.

Rodney rolled his eyes. "It's not up to you, is it?" The expectant look he gave John's mother was nauseating.

"Boys, please," she pleaded, clearly torn. "Perhaps you should let me finish speaking."

"Yes," Teyla agreed. "It would be _wise_ to gain a better understanding of the situation. I have spoken with John's grandmother and there is much more to the situation than it first appears."

That pronouncement sobered them up pretty quickly.

"John," his mother continued. "There is some danger to you in this. The reason you were given a reprieve all those years ago is that that public sentiment about reuniting with the FreeNox has been decisively split down the middle for centuries. There are strong voices both for and against reunification. When you were conceived, it was dictated by those favoring it. But when I managed to negotiate an out for you, at that time, those against reunification had gained the majority. But now, especially with my mother and sister's support, there is still an even larger contingent in favor of reopening communication and bringing our two peoples back together. Whatever ends up happening, there are Fae who will be unhappy with the result and they may seek to take matters into their own hands by eliminating you."

 _Wonderful._ The thought wasn't meant for her, but he didn't doubt that she'd picked up on it. "I'll handle it," he assured her. "The Fae aren't that tough."

Rodney frowned at something John said. "Not tough, no, but there's something else. Something… John's cousin told me he cured me of my citrus allergy. His grandfather mentioned something to me about reading minds. I didn't say much at first, but that never seemed to matter. The people here _know_ too much." Rodney's attention focused on John's mother. "Is it true? Can you read my mind?"

She looked to him, and John knew it was over. "She can read your mind, Rodney," he answered for her. "And so can I."

One look at Rodney's hollow expression, and John had seen enough. He fled to the bedroom he'd used as a child, not letting Ronon, Teyla, or his mother stop him. Once there, he engaged the privacy lock on the veil, then forced himself to laugh. The room smelled like McKay had made himself at home in here. John wondered if that had been his mother's doing, or if Rodney had picked the room to nap in on his own.

It didn't matter now, anyway.

* * *

Sheppard's abrupt hissy fit and departure had led to more questions from Ronon and Teyla, but nothing the woman said about John's abilities mattered to Rodney. Sheppard had the only answers he really cared about.

So Rodney listened with a sour stomach as Dana explained the difference between the Nox, the FreeNox, and the FaeNox. Apparently, the regular run-of-the-mill Nox were the bunch that O'Neill's team had run into several times. As it turned out, not all of them were a bunch of tree-hugging, pacifist hippies. After a massive rebellion, the FreeNox population broke off and settled on a new homeworld. Later still, there was another rebellion — this time the people who later became the FaeNox had chafed under the anarchy of the FreeNox ways and joined talents with a bunch of Alterrans, Furlings, and Asgard. And didn't _that_ sound familiar.

"The FaeNox of that time traded the secrets of the Lake for a city of their own," Dana said. "Our people had stories about the magnificent flying cities of the Nox, but the FreeNox had turned their back on the technology and the skill of crafting them had been lost. So, in answer to your unspoken question, Dr. McKay, this city was built by a team of Alterrans and FaeNox and is, in fact, several centuries younger than your Atlantis. That unique partnership of Alterrans and FaeNox was to have lasted across the millennia. The city, though predominantly a home to the FaeNox, was always intended to host members of a delegation of Alterrans who had no desire to ascend." She laughed. "What a pair they must have made back then! Nox, who were neither pacifists nor anarchists; and Alterrans, who simply wished to experience the pleasures of this world without worrying about the next."

"But then the plague struck," Rodney guessed.

"Yes. The city of Atlantis left, and the Alterrans that remained in this city sickened and died."

"And now the Fae want John. To fly their city," Ronon said.

"Yes."

"Back to the anarchists they separated from?" Teyla puzzled.

"It is believed that as we have grown and developed, so too have the FreeNox."

Translation: she thought it was stupid, too, but nobody was asking her, but Rodney had had enough.

"Does this city of yours even have a name?" he demanded.

Dana laughed. "The Alterrans and the Goa'uld were always very fond of pretending and reinventing themselves. Our city has never had a name, because there is only one of her and to us, she is always Home."

"Does John know of all this that you're telling us?" Teyla asked, tone thoughtful.

"I told him stories, as a child. I would not guarantee that he remembered any of this at all. On most days, our special abilities were simply a magic trick to be kept hidden away." She paused and considered the repercussions before continuing, "He's listening to us now."

"He should have told us," Rodney bit out, meaning to be overheard.

Ronon shrugged. "We all have secrets. You're just mad you didn't figure it out sooner."

No, Rodney was mad that John had never _trusted_ him enough to tell him. "That's _so_ not the point."

"I am upset to learn of John's deception, as well," Teyla said. "But, we must try to understand from John's point of view, Rodney. Yes, we would like to know more, but it is our duty as his friends to reassure him that we shall not abandon him."

The sick feeling inside of Rodney just seemed to grow. He _knew_ all of that, but really, he just wanted Sheppard to explain why he'd never told them. He crossed his arms. "If you want to do that, then go ahead. You don't need my permission."

Teyla raised one dangerous eyebrow at his lip, but Dana interjected, "Then perhaps we should invite John back to join us."

"Sheppard. Get your ass back in here," Ronon growled.

"Your companions have questions, John," Dana called.

"We are surprised and —" Teyla glanced at Rodney "— a bit upset, but we are still your friends."

They all looked at Rodney expectantly. He gave a disgusted huff and raised his voice.

"Do not make me come in there after you, John Sheppard. I am feeling so pissy right now, being in a room any smaller than this one would likely make it explode from the sheer magnitude of my ire."

John, expression screaming guilty conscience, slunk out of his room and stood slouched against the wall instead of sitting back down.

"So," he said, and his voice came out a rasp. "You've had to have realized for a while now that I'm not exactly 100% human. I don't have all the same abilities as my mother, or to the same degree, but I can read people's minds and emotions if I'm touching them."

And that was not _nearly_ precise enough for Rodney. "Define 'touching.'"

John seemed to shrink in on himself as he mumbled, "Any sort of skin-to-skin contact. If it's a strong thought or emotion, sometimes I can pick it up through clothing, too." He glanced at his mother. "Most Fae, though, can get a read on you without any sort of contact at all. They don't even have to be in the same room."

"It comes in handy for communication," Dana said. "You'll notice we have no phones or radios here, save for those we utilize in keeping tabs on the human world."

John crossed his arms tightly over his chest. "The mind-reading thing is why I try to avoid physical contact with people, but with you three — that's not so practical. I try and shield, but if it's a strong thought or emotion, or if I'm injured…" His voice trailed off helplessly. "It's only as good as my concentration." He tried to smile and it came out a fractured, broken thing. "I don't know. Maybe you can create some sort of anti-brainwave suit for me to wear. Huh, McKay?"

The easy capitulation from John made Rodney ache. "That's not necessary. Clearly, you've managed to handle it this far without us realizing what you could do."

"I guess, yeah," John nodded. "I've learned to stay out of discussions of what people think and feel. It's too easy for me to forget the difference between what I've actually been told and what I've picked up. It's easier to just not say anything."

Rodney's world spun. Was Sheppard saying he _wasn't_ emotionally constipated after all? There was a _reason_ the man avoided discussing emotions of any sort? "Anything else we should know?" he asked faintly. "Any other superpowers?"

John drew a breath. "After the bug-thing happened, I didn't have to hold back on my strength and reflexes as much — those are both above-average for humans. I've also got heightened senses of sight, hearing, taste, and smell. The enhanced sight was great for me being a pilot, the smell thing just pretty much sucks all the way around, the hearing's always pretty useful, and, well, you've benefitted the most from the super-tastebuds." His mouth twisted up in a wry smile. "I really _wasn't_ trying to get more of the meat for myself."

"You are still Colonel John Sheppard," Teyla proclaimed. "Nothing has changed, save that we have all grown too tired to think clearly. I bid you all good night."

John worked up a half-smile for her. "G'night, Teyla."

"I said everything I needed to on the boat," Ronon said. "Where am I staying?"

Dana pointed to a veiled archway near where Teyla had disappeared.

"See you in the morning," he said as he left, leaving the three of them alone.

Rodney was still thinking about what Sheppard had said and thinking back to all the times he and John had interacted. It was too much to process all at once. "I need some time to think about this."

John swallowed. "Okay."

He nodded to the archway John was leaning beside. It had been the one he'd been using earlier. "Is that your room?"

"Yeah, but if —"

"No," Rodney said quickly, cutting him off. "I'll find someplace else." There were six bedrooms connected to the common room. He'd just choose a different one — one that wasn't Sheppard's.

* * *

After kissing his mother's cheek and allowing her to tell him it would be okay, John retreated back to his room — to the bed that still smelled like Rodney. He hugged the pillow tight to his chest, inhaled deeply, and tried to rest his eyes. It would be easier on him if he didn't have to look at the evidence that he wasn't back home, in his room on Atlantis.

Over and over, he tried to think of a way to explain to them — to _Rodney_ — so that they'd understand. John couldn't afford to lose them; not like he'd lost Nancy.

She'd been there at the funeral. She'd had her arms wrapped defensively around her body and she'd made no move to touch him. John didn't think anyone but Ronon, had realized who she was.

At one point in time, he'd been closer to Nancy, had shared more with her than with his team. She'd known about his powers for years before he'd proposed. Marrying her was supposed to have guaranteed him a partner for the rest of their lives… And they were happy. Until he broke her.

He didn't see it coming, but in retrospect there had been signs — long sweaters, shifting out of arms' reach, going to bed early so that he wouldn't even think to initiate sex when he came to bed. Subconsciously, he must've known something was wrong — that he was the cause of the problems, because he'd actually believed that his being stationed overseas would help them get back to where they'd been when they were dating. He'd figured if she was anxious about him being privy to her thoughts, well, he couldn't do that from seven thousand miles away. He'd thought that the space would allow them the chance to simply be themselves without worry. He should've worried more. Because if _Nancy_ , if his Nancy had become unable to deal with his abilities, what chance did John stand of achieving anything better with anyone else?

So, he'd never told his Team. Never told anyone else. And had planned to never, ever, tell Rodney McKay.

Now, all of his plans — mainly, to keep quiet about his abilities and to stay out of the Fae's schemes — were crashing down around his pointy ears.

He didn't know what he would say to them tomorrow.

***

John was still in the throes of self-pity when he heard footsteps outside his door the whisper of moving fabric. He opened his eyes to see Rodney's head poking around the edge of the veil. It seemed the universe was going to get him to stop worrying about tomorrow, by making him deal with it today.

"John?" Rodney asked tentatively. "I could come back and we could do this in the morning, but it looks like you're able to sleep about as much as I am. I just want to get this over with."

John allowed himself the weakness of squeezing his eyes shut against the pain in his heart. When he opened them, the root of his heartache was still waiting for an answer. "Come in, Rodney. If you're going to yell, press the purple button, and the veil will make it so we don't disturb the rest of them."

Rodney pressed the purple button. But then he sat down on the foot of John's bed and didn't say a word. Clearly uncomfortable, Rodney's arms folded across his chest and his mouth acquired an unhappy slant. The fact that he was much quieter now than before, during the earlier conversation between the five of them, had John worrying. He knew he'd been lying by omission to Rodney about his abilities, but he wasn't sure just what Rodney was the most upset about. Was this simply the calm before the tirade began?

Unable to withstand the pressure, John breached the silence first, saying the only thing he _could_ say: "I'm sorry I got you dragged into this, buddy."

Rodney's eerie giggle was full of dark humor. "Even had I been made aware of the full circumstances surrounding your family, I doubt it could have been predicted that they'd seek to trap you like this." He drew in a breath, exhaled. "Every time I try and adjust to what I now know about you, I keep getting stuck." Rodney paused, like he was waiting for John to magically give him the answer without him having to ask the question. His blue eyes flashed with anger as the silence continued. "So. What I've been spending my time thinking about, is this: Did you not tell me about yourself because you thought I'd freak? Or is it because you think you're better than me?"

That wasn't fair. John opened his mouth to say as much when Rodney held out an accusing finger.

"No! I've been cooped up here waiting for you to show up for over a _week_ , so I've had some time to think. Do you know how many missions we've been on that ended up with us stuck isolated somewhere for a good long while with absolutely nothing to do but talk shit and play Prime/Not Prime? Thirty-seven, John!"

"Prime," John said, trying to interject some humor, but he only received an ugly glare for his efforts.

"Sheppard? I am serious about this. The least you can do is offer me the courtesy of pretending it's the same for you."

John rocked back, reeling from the sharp rebuke. "Rodney, hey buddy, I —"

"Don't you _buddy_ me! Don't you dare do that now. Where do you get off calling me _buddy_ , when I didn't even know the most fundamental thing about you?" Rodney continued, raising his voice until John's faltered. "It's been thirty-seven times we've been cooped up together. Alone. No one in sight! Thirty-seven! So, did it never occur to you, as we were huddled up for warmth, for you to mention, 'Hey, McKay, mind your thoughts 'cause I can read 'em'? Or even to start with something more general, like, 'Hey, my mom's an alien and I can do some neat tricks'? Or was it just too damn funny going through my head? Poor, pathetic McKay's fucked up mind."

"No," John protested, but Rodney wasn't having any of it.

"You pick up feelings too, don't you, along with the thoughts? So, what? You hung out with me because it was like a constant _ego boost_ whenever you were near me?"

"No!" John drew his knees up to his chest, as if they could offer some protection to his heart. "I told you before. Nothing counts unless it's said out loud. I don't go prying on purpose."

Those last words were the ones that turned McKay's eyes murderous. The man sucked in and exhaled a breath that vibrated with fury.

"When we were talking in your room, in the dark, and we were sharing pieces of our life… Do you remember that? Do you? Because I remember. I remember what you did, John," Rodney said in a dangerously soft voice. "You reached out, didn't you? _Didn't you?_ " he shouted with John didn't answer him.

"Yes."

"You put your hand on my ankle," Rodney said softly. "You touched me, and I —" he tilted his head to the side, eyes closing as he thought back. "I remember, thinking then, just how _nice_ it was… how _nice_ it was to find someone that I could connect with. But you were reading me. On purpose. Weren't you?" Rodney said, his voice so full of hurt it made John's jaw ache.

"Yes," he admitted, closing his eyes.

"You touched me, to get into my head."

"Yes," John whispered. He couldn't deny it.

As the silence stretched, Rodney took a handful of shaky breaths.

John just wanted to take it back, to make it so that night had never happened. Because that ' _exceptional'_ had set off the first time, in a long time, that he'd let himself _hope_.

"You're supposed to tell me that I'm wrong, John."

"And I'd tell you that," he said, heart breaking. "If it were true."

 _It wasn't like that_ , he wanted to say, but that wasn't true, either.

John hadn't thought that anything could be worse than the look of hurt betrayal in Rodney's eyes, but the disconnected numbness that replaced it at John's words reminded him all over again why he'd never told Rodney his secret. He'd known it would fuck up their relationship. He'd known _he_ would fuck it up.

John swallowed. "I'm sorry. God, I'm so sorry. I know it was wrong. I usually don't —" He closed his eyes. That _still_ wasn't the truth. As his attraction to Rodney strengthened, he'd stopped allowing himself to touch for pleasure, less and less. He clenched his hands into fists. "I'll stop. Other Fae can read your thoughts and emotions without contact, but I need to be physically touching the person. I swear to you, McKay, I promise I won't touch you again unless your life's in danger."

That, at last, snapped Rodney out of his daze. "Do you _seriously_ think that's what I want?" Rodney snapped, with something approaching his regular tone of voice. "I'll tell you, Sheppard — you're one stupendously shitty mind-reader if you really do." Rodney swallowed. "Who else knows about you? I want you to give me a fucking list."

The question threw John, though perhaps it shouldn't have. "Uh, everyone here. Obviously," he said before McKay could say it. "I had to tell Generals Landry and O'Neill that I have Fae blood, in order to convince them to beam me here. They don't have any of the details, though. My brother Dave — but he turned out mostly human. And," — and John knew this would put the nail in the coffin of their friendship, because this was his last secret. "My ex-wife, Nancy."

"You were married."

"For a few years," he admitted. "But it was long before I was ever transferred to McMurdo." _And then, to Atlantis._

Rodney nodded. "Right. Okay. So, here's how it is. Feel free to call me an ass for saying this, Sheppard — but I swear upon my _brain_ , you had better tell me _everything_. _Right now_. Or I'm walking out that door."

 _And not coming back,_ was the implied threat. John swallowed. Rodney had been right — he _was_ an asshole for laying down that ultimatum. But they both knew who had the power here, so, John settled himself back more comfortably, and told him.

He talked about Nancy, and about all the memories and fears that had been running through his head earlier that night.

And, for once, Rodney didn't stop him to interrupt. He waited, until John had talked himself out, then asked softly, "You're still in love with your ex-wife, aren't you?"

"No," John denied. "No, that isn't it. I may still be concerned about what happens to her, but I haven't been in love with her for a long time. I think… what's been giving me trouble is, I can't seem to get over her leaving me. I mean, I knew her. We were in love. And then, she couldn't bear to look at me. She tried to make me feel better by saying it wasn't anything that I'd done… that she simply just couldn't cope with my abilities the way she'd thought she'd be able to. But Rodney, she'd known about them for _years_ … Years. And if she couldn't handle it, how can I ask that of anyone else?"

Rodney's expression was too kind. "I'll tell you how. You can ask, because we're your friends. Teyla isn't your ex-wife. Ronon isn't your ex-wife. _I_ am not your ex-wife. We're not the same people, John. Does she know about the Stargate Program?"

John shook his head.

"See? Already, Teyla, Ronon, and I have a wider world-view than she does. You're going to have to trust us now. It's too late for anything else. You have to trust that we can handle this. Look, I understand why you didn't tell your military. I can guess why you didn't tell Elizabeth back then or Carson now. But what I still can't figure out, that I _need_ to know, is why did you never tell _me_? Why didn't you tell me, John?"

John's nails dug into his palms. "Because. You're my best friend, Rodney. I can't lose you. Nancy knew. She could handle me being a killer, but knowing I knew her deepest secrets? That was what ended it. My brother couldn't handle it either. I learned the hard way that people who know act differently. Treat me differently. I never wanted you to look at me the way they do, Rodney."

Rodney drew a deep breath and exhaled.

"All right. I don't want to belabor something you already know, but I need to make myself very clear on this next point."

John nodded. "I'm listening."

Rodney's mouth was an unhappy slant as he spoke. "John, when you just _take_ answers from my mind," he said quietly, "you're denying me the ability to explain, and the opportunity to talk to you. Maybe, I actually _want_ to talk to a friend about my shitty childhood." He stared at John with troubled, hurt eyes. "But you assumed I wouldn't tell you. What kind of _friend_ thinks that?"

John bowed his head at the accusation. There simply was no excuse. "One with pretty shitty decision-making skills," he answered, winning a broken smile from Rodney. "I didn't want to chance hurting you by bringing up the abuse. And, besides, I don't have the right to kick ass on your behalf outside of combat situations. It wasn't any of my business, Rodney."

"Yet, you wanted to know anyway."

"Yes."

Rodney sighed. "Well, you were wrong. It _is_ your business. Us being friends _makes_ it your business. So, the next time you're curious, John? _Ask me._ There have been times when I haven't told you things, but it was only because I thought you were as allergic to talking about feelings as I was to citrus. You've been a good friend to me, John. One of the best." He reached out and tangled their fingers together, giving John's hand a squeeze. "I don't want to lose you, either."

Strength. Rodney was _projecting_ strength and support. John tried to absorb it, savor it. Then, he tried to gently disconnect their fingers. Rodney hung on, long enough to make his point, then allowed the separation.

"Don't shy away from me, John. Do you think Teyla and Ronon are going to stop sparring with you because of this? They won't. We all just have to get used to this. It'll be okay. We'll get there."

"All right." He was trusting Rodney on this.

"Good. And now one last thing, and then this very, very stressful day can be over… I'm curious about something. From the moment that messy-headed freak snatched me away, every Fae I've met, in talking to me, has referred to you as "your John," like you're my damn dog, or something."

"It's just a stupid custom. Doesn't mean anything," John lied. He couldn't go there. Not tonight. Not now.

Rodney look darkened even further, if that was at all possible. "Right. Stupid. I see. Because no one in their right mind would ever —"

"No," John cut in. "Don't think that. You think you know what it means, don't you?" John could see it now — the bruised look in Rodney's eyes that only appeared when his self-esteem was in the gutter. "What did they tell you it meant?"

"Something about you being bound to me and being mine," Rodney said sourly. "They way they keep saying it, it's like you belong to me whether I want that or not, whether _you_ want that or not."

John closed his eyes. _Years_ , he'd been hiding his attraction, only to have his asshole cousin notice, and then suddenly the entire world knew. _McKay_ knew. He took a steady breath. He could fix this.

"Loyalty's like that," he said softly. "You don't always feel like you deserve it, but people give it to you anyway. They're simply yours, and you don't have any say in it."

Rodney considered that. "So, that's what they're all talking about? Us being a team?"

"Yeah," he lied, then muddied the waters a bit more by saying a half-truth: "The Fae are pretty dog-eat-dog. It'd be easy for any of them to misunderstand our relationship."

But they weren't misunderstanding it. Not at all. Any Fae within a mile of John would know, Rodney was it for him.

Rodney looked at him for a long time. "Okay," he said at last. "I guess at the end of the day, we can chalk it up to them being weird aliens. I suppose it's better than it was on that planet where my genetic _follicular impairment_ gave the natives the impression that you all were my _children_."

John smiled at the joke. Rodney was letting it go.

 _For now…_ Rodney's eyes promised.

"Good night, John."

"Good night, Rodney."

And, this time, John did sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Over breakfast the next morning, Teyla made eye-contact with John and inclined her head. "If it would not be too much of an inconvenience, I would welcome an experienced Bantos partner to spar with this morning."

John slowly rolled his neck, first one way, then the other. "Yeah. It's time."

She finished her light meal ahead of the others — honing her skills was more difficult on a full stomach — and made her way back to her assigned rooms and the wide balcony upon which she practiced.

On the short walk, Teyla considered what she had seen in John's brown eyes. It had lingered there, like a wary _keflaat_ , waiting in fear of a stranger approaching its den.

John Sheppard — the man who had helped awaken the Wraith, raised the city of the Ancestors, rescued the remainder of her people, and who risked his life on a daily basis — was afraid of _her_.

His mouth pretended otherwise and the set of his shoulders was carefully at-ease, but she could see in his eyes. He watched her and he wondered if Teyla's greater understanding of his nature would cause her to renounce their bond.

It was foolish of him to think so, but those in pain often found it difficult to see clearly. Her heart ached that she could not have helped him shoulder this burden earlier. While Teyla taught other members of the Expedition out of duty, teaching John Sheppard the Athosian katas was an honor. The city's military commander had many responsibilities and while he trained with his fellow soldiers, the time he spent training with Teyla was for his own peace of mind. And it would be that way again… even if she had to beat the sense into him.

* * *

Rodney watched as John accepted Teyla's invitation like a man agreeing to his own execution. It saddened him to see John so buried in fears that he couldn't see how much of a non-issue his abilities were. Rodney's biggest complaint was that John had kept the truth from him, but even that was understandable given John's past experiences.

Earlier that morning, their party had managed a semblance of a conversation, but after Teyla excused herself, the table fell into a funk. Rodney traded looks with Ronon, but neither of them wanted to poke the angsty bear that was Sheppard, which left it up to John's mother break the silence.

"After lunch," she began tentatively, "you should introduce your friends to Scáth. They've only seen the _capall sgiathanach_ from afar." John merely grunted. "You should take her for a ride." This earned her a huff, but Dana persisted. "You know, John, she hasn't let anyone ride her since you left."

That brought John's head up. "That was years ago. Besides, aren't I too big? I've grown since we last flew."

"My silly duckling," Dana laughed. "So has she. The cord woven between _capall sgiathanach_ and rider can be very strong. Both of you are very stubborn, so you shouldn't be so surprised to hear she's spurned all others. Still, I think she'd appreciate knowing you've returned. It would give you both a chance to stretch your wings."

Rodney's jaw dropped and he shot John an accusing look. "You have _wings_ , too?"

Dana laughed again. "No, Dr. McKay, I'm sorry. It was only a figure of speech. I apologize for alarming you." Her face turned tender and she held his gaze. "I know you and John were upset with each other last night, and I'm glad to see that your bond has not suffered adversely."

The clink of silverware (actual _silver_ silverware) and the rattle of a chair alerted Rodney that Sheppard was bolting again. "John, come on. Sit."

"I want to get in a run before meeting Teyla," Sheppard lied, because he and Rodney already had plans to go over specs necessary for the communication back to the DHS later that night.

"John," he protested.

"I'll catch up with you over lunch," he said, and was gone.

Ronon pushed back from the table, his plate having been emptied far earlier. "I'll go keep him company." He left the room at a jog. "Sheppard! Wait up!"

Rodney glared murderously at his eggs to spare John's mother from being given similar treatment. Couldn't she see it bothered her son every time she brought up _feelings_? Specifically, John/Rodney-shaped feelings? He mangled a thick slice of country bread before speaking.

"Listen, I don't know what you think you saw or heard or mind-whammied out of my skull." _Because I've been damn careful with the calf-eyes since we've been here._ "But you can't go speaking so freely about Sheppard and I having a relationship, or bond, or belonging to each other. Do you get it? There is no relationship and any accusations of there being one could get him discharged from the military and forced out of the military. And you know just what he'll lose if that happens."

Rodney made the mistake of looking up and realized, for the first time since he'd arrived, that while Patrick Sheppard might have been a stubborn-ass bastard, John's single-minded determination came from his _mother_. Gone was the maternal figure. Dana Sheppard was fit to rant.

"Doctor McKay, first, I do not need to _mind-whammy_ anything. The desire is writ plain on both your faces. I may have missed the last decade of his life, but I know my son. It is my duty as his mother to guide him through this, especially after I allowed him to break his engagement. Secondly, the Fae do not make a habit of seeking contact with the United States military. Who here do you suspect might cause trouble for John? _You?_ "

"Of course not! You're freakin' faeries! You _exist_ to cause humans trouble! And that's what you're doing."

"We are _FaeNox_ , there is a distinct difference." She drew a solid breath in an attempt to calm herself. "I am not causing him trouble. When John's father persisted with his ugly human notion of who it was appropriate to love, I taught my son to follow his heart. And while I will not lower myself to teach a lesson to the snake of a woman who trampled on it, I will not allow him to close himself off to happiness. He is childish to deny the yearning he feels and it is fair to neither you nor him. It is my right as his mother to teach him this, when he cannot learn it for himself."

Rodney clamped his mouth shut before his tongue could do irreparable damage, but he thought furiously at Dana, _Are you getting this, you mind-reading witch? If you are, it serves you right for poking in other people's heads. John Sheppard has never been the kind of man to change his spots on another's say so. And even if he_ wanted _to change how he felt about starting up a relationship with me,_ I'm _still not sure how_ I _feel about him. It takes two to tango, lady, and your meddling is doing more harm than good. The man I know isn't scared of anything — not of life-sucking monsters, of sacrificing his life to save two hundred people, or of rescue missions in hostile territory — but for some reason, he's terrified of admitting that he cares for people. So don't push him. He's not ready. All you're doing is causing him to feel worse about himself than he already does._

Dana rose from her seat and moved behind Rodney's chair. Her touch came as a kiss, pressed to the top of his head. Her hand gave a light squeeze to his shoulder. "You're wrong about something, you know."

"It happens," Rodney admitted gruffly, then followed with a waspish, "and usually something catastrophic follows."

She touched his chin, tipping his head to meet her gaze. "You _do_ know how you feel about him."

Leaving him sitting open-mouthed, she excused herself and left.

Rodney closed his eyes. Every once in a while he hated being right.

Absolutely fucking catastrophic.

* * *

When John stepped out onto the balcony, it was with the heavy step of one moving towards his execution. She had seen this behavior only once before from John, when guilt had plagued him after an intensely difficult mission. She decided to deal with it now like she had dealt with it then… by working him almost to the point of exhaustion and then physically _educating_ him just a bit more while she spoke her piece.

She nodded serenely to him. "I have already warmed up, but I shall join you as you stretch. Come," she beckoned. "These mats, though thin, are quite sufficient to offer cushioning from the stone." She caressed the intricately woven pattern. "As accustomed as I have become to living amidst the wonders of Atlantis, this city fills me with awe once more."

He paused. Searched her words and conjured up a dazzling grin that did not touch his eyes. "Yep, they've got quite a few neat gizmos around here."

She followed John through his warm-up movements, concern building in her as he initiated none of the partner stretches. He regained his feet and danced away when she made the attempt.

Teyla let that, too, go unremarked and instead retrieved the makeshift rods Dana had obtained for her earlier. "I was most pleased to have been presented with these," she said, passing him a set. "In exchange, I agreed to teach a group of the Fae warriors the beginning katas."

John shrugged and hefted the rods, his mouth opened as if about to speak, but he closed it again after a few seconds.

Teyla allowed him a moment more to get a feel for the weapons' balance and weight, then began the first set of partner katas, skipping the solo set entirely. They ran through the motions twice, then circled each other warily as the sparring began.

She struck the first blow. And though John parried with his usual speed, his shoulders were tight and the movement was jerky rather than smooth. She feinted low and followed up with a swipe and jab at head level. He ducked the first, parried the second, but hesitated too long in making his own strike and she tapped him on the shoulder, hard enough to bruise.

He cast her a dirty look but made no move to redouble his efforts, making only defensive moves — which, truly, suited Teyla just fine, considering the news she'd received from Dr. Lam the other day. It was not overly unusual for she and John to practice this way, taking up strict offensive and defensive roles during training. It allowed each partner to focus their skills upon their selected role, but Teyla would make John work to hold her off. And make him work for it, she did.

Some time later, they were both sweating hard. John had taken more blows that was typical; not due to inattention, but to timidity.

Seeing another opening in his defense, Teyla pressed the advantage, sending one of John's rods spinning off towards the balcony railing and he was in no position to raise the other in time to block a heavy strike aimed at his head. And he knew it. She watched him relax his muscles as he prepared to take the hit and she pulled the blow back a mere finger's breadth from his cheekbone. They stayed frozen like that, chests heaving with exertion while Teyla waited until she had his full attention.

"John," she asked plainly, "have you been shielding so much of yourself that you fear I will no longer recognize my friend?"

He used his hand to bat away the rod aimed at his head. "All this time, you've been helping me train, helping me cope, never asking anything for yourself; and I've been lying to you."

She set her rods aside and sat cross-legged upon the stones. The move made her more vulnerable, for now he towered over her and still held one of his weapons. Her action had its intended effect. John sank to mirror her position and set down his rod.

Teyla reached out with a hand to hold on to his knee. He tried to brush it away, but she redoubled her grip. "Practicing with you is a joy and an honor. It pleases me to assist you in honing your strengths and mitigating your weaknesses. How is the situation between us any different now? My _only_ concern in all of this is how we should modify your training in order to take your abilities into account — both when you need to use them covertly and in those times when holding back is no longer an option."

John's eyes closed while he considered her words. When he was ready to speak, his voice came out tentative. "Do you really understand? I've been invading your privacy every time we touch. I don't poke around on purpose, but you and Ronon are the ones I grapple with the most. And the forehead thing you do… I can see into your mind whenever I come into physical contact with you. I almost always try to shield, but skin-to-skin, it's… I know things about you that you've never shared, some that I know you don't want to _ever_ share."

 _May the Ancestors give me patience!_ she beseeched any who would listen before rocking up onto her knees and moving into his personal space. With a firm touch, she guided his forehead down to rest against hers. He strained against the pressure at first, taking a sharp breath, but he meekly resigned himself to the contact when she persisted. They stayed locked together like that — forehead to forehead, her hands to the sides of his head — for several moments as Teyla focused on projecting peace, acceptance, and openness in all things.

When they separated, she could see that he was not fully comforted. Not yet. She took his hands in hers, clasping them together and holding them close to his chest and heart.

"If that is the case, John Sheppard, then I am greatly relieved; for now I know that we are equals in this." She allowed herself the hint of a smile at his confusion. "While you may know my thoughts with a touch, John, long have I been able to read your heart through your eyes." She touched his temple, happy to see his face open in wonder. "My people have a saying… To be known truly by a friend, is a great treasure. I am very glad that you and I are such friends."

If John Sheppard then pitched forward and surrendered himself to the sanctuary of her arms, if she soothed and listened and spoke and listened some more, Teyla would never speak of it to another soul.

* * *

Rodney met with John for lunch and was relieved to find the man in much better spirits. When he inquired after the training with Teyla, John had simply shrugged and said it went about as usual. They chatted for a bit about what Rodney would need for the satellite uplink. Bundled in a warm long coat, he stuck close to John, trailing less than a pace behind as John made his way to the open air stables. The buildings and two-storey beam roof were designed more for warmth, shelter, and tack storage than for keeping the winged horses contained. With each step closer, it was like John's heels had grown springs.

"You up for petting her?" John asked, once they were tromping down straw-littered floors.

 _Probably not, but if it's got you smiling like that…_

 __

 __"Sure, but let's see how she deals with you, first."

John stopped in front of a stall and peered inside. "You hidin' out in here today? Not flying with the rest?" He nodded out towards the other horses, cavorting riderless in the sky. "You waitin' in here for me?"

On cat feet, Rodney tiptoed nearer and peeked around the edge of the stall's frame. Inside, he saw a dusky purple-hued pegasus with a silver mane and tail and iridescent white wings.

"You're bonded to a real-life My Little Pony!?" Rodney hissed in a whisper. He wasn't sure if he should be impressed, terrified, or absolutely amused.

Sheppard's gaze sharpened. "And how does Mr. Nobel Prize-Worthy Scientist know about My Little Pony?" John asked in equally soft tones, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

"Hello?" Rodney whispered back. "I have a little sister! What's your excuse?" He'd meant it teasingly, but John's face took on an _Oh, shit!_ expression. "Huh." That was interesting. "You're gonna tell me that story someday, Sheppard."

John rolled his eyes. "When pigs fly."

Rodney shrugged. "Well, with winged horses, other barnyard animals might not be that far behind at this rate. I'd watch your bargains around here."

John shivered. "Yeah, isn't _that_ the truth. Okay." He took an apple out of his pocket. "Stand back. I'm going in."

Hastily, Rodney moved to where he hopefully wouldn't get squashed. He craned over the tall half-wall and saw John approaching the purple beast, apple perched enticingly atop his flat palm.

In a blur of motion, the creature snaked its head forward to snatch up the treat, then launched itself up into the air in a vertical takeoff that would make aerospace engineers weep in shame.

Instead of looking discouraged, Sheppard came out smiling.

"Now what?" Rodney asked.

"Now I track her down."

The hunt led them in a scramble up, across, and down the cascading balconies of the city. Rodney accused John of drawing out the search in order to force Rodney into exerting himself longer. John only smiled.

The mossy and sod-strewn balconies were strangely deserted. He didn't know if it was simply that no one was living in this quadrant of the city-island or if the inhabitants had cleared out in preparation for John's attempt. They caught up to the demon horse twice more, each time, John offered an apple.

"Last one," John said, putting a hand on the beast's nose. The brutish thing _body-checked_ him with its flank and took off into the air again.

"You're insane. Why are you still smiling?"

"Because, if I'd pissed you off as much as I've pissed her off, you'd be in a giant snit too. But look." John pointed. "She's only a few balconies away now. I think she's ready to kiss and make up."

Rodney made a face. "You make it sound like it's a woman you're in love with."

"Yeah, the only one for me," John returned lightly with a laugh.

The words made Rodney pause, sure he was imagining things. "Sheppard, you're not into…" He couldn't get the question past his lips.

"Into horses like that?" John filled in gracefully. "Nah. I only like creatures that talk and can tell me how awesome my hair is."

Rodney cursed his brain as it supplied a most disturbing retort. He looked to John and saw the man turning slightly green as well.

They sighed and nodded. "Mr. Ed," they said in unison.

Rodney doubled over in laughter while John brayed his donkey laugh. He whapped Rodney lightly on the arm, then set off at a jog across the balconies before Rodney could get his wind back.

* * *

Rodney had been fully prepared to hang a few balconies back and let John have this reunion between not-quite-man and feathered horse on his own, but something about John changed the moment he stepped out on the final balcony. Rodney surmised he could have paraded Atlantis' brass quartet (who insisted on practicing in the mess on alternating Tuesdays, to everyone's annoyance) back and forth across the small balcony and John would never even think to take his eyes off of the pegasus. A mental voice, sounding disturbingly similar to Daniel Jackson's, reminded Rodney that 'Pegasus' referred to one specific winged horse from Greek mythology. Rodney told the voice to jump off a log and ascend.

Strangely enough, Rodney got to put his theory about John's utter obliviousness to the test. After several hours of seeing no one, Fae started crawling out of the woodwork — none literally, though. Yet.

The first Faeto show up was a reedy boy, who hopped up and sat on the railing without so much as a by-your-leave. Which, considering that _Rodney_ was the guest here, made a bit of sense. What was creepy, though, was the way the Fae boy just stared at John and the pegasus. Creepier still was when the second being turned up — a flinty-eyed leprechaun, or a really pissed off midget — he couldn't be certain, but considering the location, fairyhood was much more likely. And wasn't _that_ a weird thought. A third Fae appeared and looked on with undisguised interest.

After that, it was like some memo had been passed around and before John had even crossed halfway to the sunning pegasus, there were, on the balcony, no less than twenty beings of varying sizes and all without a strand of human DNA in them. Every last one was watching John with rapt attention.

Rodney didn't know whether to be annoyed or relieved when Dana turned up. The Fae woman offered up a rueful smile and Rodney, because it was John's _mother_ , after all, shrugged and gave a tentative smile back. She sidled closer to him and he took the chance to ask under his breath, barely moving his lips, "Wht ar thay all doin' h're?"

Dana blinked amused eyes. "Dr. McKay, I would not trouble yourself to attempt subterfuge. My people are not lip readers, they merely have exceptional hearing."

"And pointy ears," Rodney muttered.

"In answer to your question," she said, letting the jibe slide, "they are _observing_. Scáth has never let anyone get within arm's reach ever since her last flight with John. We are all interested in what she will decide. Although that cluster over there," she nodded to a motley group of what appeared to be genteel, Tolkienesque elves dressed as business men and some sort of troll made up of (or surrounded by) garbage, "are more here to assess the threat."

"John's a threat?"

"Reuniting with the FreeNox will shift the balance of power. Anything that challenges the status quo is a threat to them. But then, there are those who would do anything to incite change." She shrugged, but then Rodney heard a voice in his head. « _The last Morrighan, my late great aunt, perished in what has been labeled an 'accident.' I wouldn't trade this chance to have seen my son for anything, but I don't want him here. Not now, with tensions as high as they are. I have duties of my own and can't watch over him all the time._ » "You'll look out for him, won't you, Rodney?"

"Me, Teyla, and Ronon," Rodney agreed. "Being part of a team means you look out for each other."

She sighed. "Such an attitude is rarer here; the only people who might are your family."

Rodney thought back to all the meals they'd shared together in the mess, the Team nights, the easy balance of their skills and demeanors, and the fights, apologies, and forgivings that were part and parcel of living and working so closely together. "Family? We're that, too."

She gave his shoulder a little squeeze. "Then my son is blessed."

Rodney huffed, feeling awkward as his words caught up with him. "Your son's insane. Incomprehensibly lucky, but insane." He directed her attention back to John and the winged horse. "That can't be remotely safe," he muttered, even as a thread of jealousy wended its way through his heart. It wasn't so much that he was keen on petting giant creatures that could kill you if they sat on you, as it was the thrill he knew John had to be experiencing as he slowly won back the creature's trust. "What will it do if it doesn't want John touching it?"

"Best-case scenario? Fly away. Worst?" She let the question trail off meaningfully, a slight mark of worry marring her forehead.

Not comforted, Rodney turned his full attention to John. John was close enough to touch the pegasus and he had been murmuring soft-toned nothings to the beast in front of him.

It would've been simpler to meet the pegasus head on, the way they were all positioned on the balcony, but John had maneuvered himself to approach the winged creature from the side. He looked comfortable… cautious, but confident and sure in his actions. Vaguely, Rodney remembered John maybe mentioning once his family bred horses, so maybe John did know what he was doing.

"Hey, girl," John crooned. Slowly, slowly, he reached out a hand and laid it on the pegasus' neck/shoulder area. "Remember me?" John let the hand stay there, just simply touching, for so long that Rodney glanced around him to see if any of the Fae were bored. They weren't.

 __

 _What do they know that I don't?_ he wondered. He glanced at Dana to see if she'd picked up on his stray thought, but she only had eyes for her son.

Rodney clamped his lips shut and waited.

"It's been a while, huh, Scáth?" John's hands moved up to make long strokes at the skin hidden beneath the pegasus' mane. Was it skin? Fur? Pelt? _What do horses have?_ He couldn't remember.

The closest Rodney had ever been to a horse before had been back in first grade, when he'd used glue and macaroni to create a 2D representation of the internal structure of an atom. In second grade, he'd progressed to mixing his own epoxies and left horses behind for good. Zoology was as soft a science as they came… anyone who wanted to spend their life determining that _this_ cockroach was different from _that_ cockroach, needed their head examined.

His attention was drawn back to John and the pegasus when the pegasus shifted and stamped its hooves under John's caresses. It didn't pull away, though. John's fingers were tangling in the mane now, carding and teasing the so-so-soft looking strands.

"I hear you've been a lonely girl since I left," John said, offering up his palm to be smelled and licked. The pegasus nosed at him for a minute, then promptly began to bite him on the arm.

 __

 _Began to bite_ , because, in Rodney's experience, animals bit you once, very quickly. After which, they fled in terror and you howled and resurrected curse words you'd forgotten you had learned. _Stupid turtles._ Rodney was never chelonia-sitting for Carson ever again. And, Archimedes, kill him now for knowing that biology term.

"Ow," John said calmly, almost as if it were a reminder.

Rodney didn't know how he wasn't screaming bloody blue murder. The pegasus' teeth might be blunted, but they were big and the jaw looked to be strongly muscled.

John resumed the scratching, even though the beast was still biting him.

"See? Insane," Rodney whispered. Dana ignored him.

"That doesn't mean what you think it means to humans, you know," John murmured. Then he snorted. "Fae, whatever."

The pegasus let go and nosed John in the chest, hard enough to make him rock back on his heels with the force.

"Easy, easy," John soothed, reaching up both hands to scratch along the back of the horse's neck. "I missed you, too. So damn much, girl. You ruined every horse for me."

They turned in to each other, the pegasus rubbing John's body with the side of its head and John rubbing and scratching and stroking. The sunlight was warm and the pair looked utterly content in each other. It was a good look on John, happy and relaxed, with a smile white in a tanned face, a black shirt stretched tight across his back and shoulders, and muscles rippling with every move. It was a very good look on John. « _I blame you for this, you know,_ » he thought at Dana.

This time she smirked.

John spoke softly, so that Rodney had to strain to hear him. "You've gone on a lot of solo flights, I hear. You wanna take me up?" John asked, and Rodney held his breath.

It should've been awkward. The pegasus was huge and unsaddled, but John was up on its back in an instant, the pegasus' pearlescent wings flapping lazily after he'd gotten himself settled. John leaned down low and wrapped his arms around its neck.

"We've both gotten older, bigger, stronger, learned a few more tricks, don't you think?" The rest of John's words were said in a whisper Rodney couldn't make out, but on John's face was a look of pure joy.

The pegasus was like a cat, wriggling its bunched haunches before launch. Flying horse and rider soared into the sky, and Rodney knew that his mind should have been turning over the physical improbability of flying horses and asking Dana if her father had any data on the creature's flight mechanisms. But it felt wrong to break the quiet that had fallen. The accumulated Fae wandered away — now that the show was over, apparently none thought that the beast would buck John off in mid-flight, because Rodney would bet they'd gather to watch that — until at last, even Dana slipped away after pointing to the nearby stables and Rodney was alone on the balcony waiting for John to return.

 _You_ do _know how you feel about him._ Her words echoed through his head.

And as daylight faded and the sun sank, Rodney kept his eyes fixed on the small speck that was John moving against the sky.

* * *

His _capall sgiathanach_ had known him the moment he'd set foot in her stall, and John was under no illusions. The only reason he'd reached her side now was because she'd allowed it.

Scáth. Her name meant "shadow" in Irish Gaelic, or, as the Fae called it, the New Tongue. When they were touching, John could read her mind and he could tell that she'd missed him.

She'd launched into the air at an angle that would have unseated him if he'd been less cautious. His knees had caught and held at the uppermost junction of her body and wings. Beneath his hands, he could feel the muscles of her chest flexing as they gained altitude. With the wind in his face and Scáth responding to the slightest of his nudges, John felt the tension seep out of him. The schemes of the Fae, the demands of Stargate Command, even the anger building up ever since he'd learned of his mother's deception — all of it melted away in the joy of flight.

The wind buffeting his body was cool and crisp and, not for the first time in his life, John was grateful his physiology was able to handle the cold climate. His thin t-shirt was hardly any protection at all.

He eased up on his seat and then bent along Scáth's neck. "Show me what'cha got, girl," he urged her.

And she did.

High above the city, the sounds of the ocean were muted, buffered by the buildings surrounding them, but the wind carried up the scent of the ocean — a murky saltiness in the air around him. The wind, too, carried other smells… smog from the urban area on the nearby coastline, the life and decay of fish and marine birds, and, blowing in from further up north… ice. John first noticed that ice had a smell up at McMurdo — the blue glaciers were clean, ancient, unending. He let his senses go, losing himself in the smell of them, in the movement of muscle beneath his hands, in the distant sound of crashing waves, and in the knowledge that for right now, he could just _be_.

Minutes melted into hours and, when the sun had finally sunk low on the horizon, John turned her nose towards the Fae's stables, ready to find them both a dinner.

His muscles protested when he dismounted, but he managed it neatly enough. It was Scáth who led him deeper into the stable for the brushes, curry combs, and feed bag. She tolerated his out-of-practice attempt at grooming her flanks and he led her over to a feeding basket to help keep her occupied.

When he moved to start on her wings, a low, feminine voice called out, "A new one, eh? In from the valley? I'd hitch her to a post, if I were you. She kicks."

John gave Scáth a scratch, then turned his attention to the Fae woman. She was dressed in riding leathers and appeared younger than his mother, but age was tricky with the Fae. The curves of her cheekbones and the way her muscles flexed as she handled a sack of feed were alluring, but John only had room for one woman in his life. Two, if he counted Scáth.

"She won't kick me," he said confidently.

The Fae let out a short laugh. "Black Demon kicks _everyone_."

It took John a moment to realize she was talking about _his_ mount. John's opinion of the woman dropped. "Her name's Scáth."

"Yes," the woman agreed, then tilted her head in curiosity. "Yet you're new. How do you know that?"

John turned his attention back to his girl and coaxed her to stretch out her nearest wing. "I'm the one who named her."

There was a long pause and John used the reprieve to straighten more of Scáth's feathers as she stood patiently, leaning in to his administrations from time to time. There was a moment where John felt a light mental touch, but he batted the attempt away and the Fae, presumably the one standing behind him, did not try again.

"I see. Forgive me, Scáth. And forgive me… John. I meant no disrespect." John turned. "After you have finished here and refreshed yourself, would you care to join me to dinner?" she invited, cheeks faintly pink.

John moved to Scáth's other side and coaxed out that wing. He could see the Fae woman now without craning his neck. She appeared eager for his answer, but not impatient. Even so, it was wise to not cause offense.

"My friends expect me to join them for the evening meal."

She nodded, and if his answer displeased her, she did not let it show. "Perhaps another time, then."

"Perhaps." He raised his hand in farewell and she left him to his task.

John was nearly finished when a commotion started up in the stable. Scáth tossed her head and John gentled her down as his team walked out towards him, Rodney in the lead.

"Sheppard," the scientist hailed. "You about done here?"

John scratched Scáth's head and whispered soothing words. "Just about."

His friends stopped a respectable distance away, but he could see sharp interest in Rodney's eyes. "I think she'll let you pet her now, if you come up one at a time. Approach her so that she can see you."

He touched a steadying hand to Scáth's flank, let her feel how much he trusted these three. She whinnied and danced around, but didn't bite as Rodney reached out to stroke her neck.

"Scratch the bridge of her nose," John suggested.

"And where's that, exactly? I'm a physicist, not some horse-whisperer like you." The words came out grouchy, but John could hear a wisp of envy coloring them.

"The flat part, Rodney, right here." He held Scáth's head steady, then guided Rodney's arm up until it was stroking on its own. "See? Just like a cat."

Rodney made a face. "Sure, if a cat were a hundred times heavier and could grind you into a pulp." The words were murmured softly, though, as Rodney grew bolder with his touching and Scáth pressed into his hands.

"It's more like two hundred, unless you've got a really fat cat."

Rodney made a non-committal noise. "Can I see her wings?"

John smiled to himself. Rodney'd gotten over calling her 'it.' "We'll see."

He had Rodney stand back a bit and positioned himself so that Scáth's teeth would land on him if she got annoyed. He scratched down her spine and sent her a mental nudge to extend her wings.

"Wow…" Rodney started forward, but John cautioned him to a stop.

"Just look for now. It seems like she's given the stable hands a hard time ever since I left. She's had a lot of excitement for one day."

"Right," Rodney murmured. He slowly came closer, but kept his hands to himself. "Sheppard," Rodney said softly. "I'm sorry I called her as a My Little Pony. She's more special than that." He inclined his head to Scáth. "And I'm sorry I referred to you as a toy before I met you. You took good care of him up there."

"You were watching?"

"Just for a little bit," Rodney answered defensively before saying more brusquely, "It got boring after a while."

The _capall sgiathanach_ nickered and teased Rodney's shirtsleeves with her teeth.

John smiled and could tell his scientist was curious about how Scáth flew, so he urged her to slowly flap once or twice. She flapped three times, then deliberately maneuvered her body so that the last downbeat of her wings, caught him in the head.

He laughed. "Okay, okay. Show's over." He cast an apologetic look at Teyla and Ronon.

"Some other time, Colonel," Teyla agreed. "Your flying horse has shown much patience and would surely like to rest soon."

Ronon, who had stayed the farthest away of all, eyed Scáth with a dark look. "Yeah. Later."

John chuckled and teased, "You don't like boats. You don't like horses. Aside from your own two feet, what transportation _do_ you like?"

Ronon thought for a bit. "Tanks?"

They laughed and the ensuing discussion about their favorite rides lasted all the way back to their quarters.

* * *

They were really doing this. John forced himself to remain calm.

Rodney scowled at the transmitter rigged from bits he'd scavenged from the FaeNox city. "It's as secure as I can make it."

John looked at him askance. "You're usually more confident when you say things like that."

"That's because I assumed I only had to deal with lowly humans, our allies, and the Trust here on Earth," he said, expression sour. "Now that I know we've got the FaeNox here too, I can't make that guarantee so lightly any more."

"Lovely."

"So, I probably should've asked this before… you're pretty much considered AWOL, aren't you?"

John found the tabletop immensely fascinating. "Officially I'm listed as doing recon. I should've tried to report back sooner, but they won't be able to complain too much because it's been less than 48 hours."

"Connection established," Rodney announced out of habit as the uplink was made.

"This is Lt. Colonel John Sheppard. I've got a situation here that I think General O'Neill needs to be brought in on." Due to the time difference, John arranged for the video feed late that evening, meaning it was early morning at the Department of Homeworld Security.

* * *

General O'Neill's face filled the screen. "Sheppard," he said by way of greeting. "Tell me you're in the air on your way back here."

"Sorry, sir. That's not the case. Rodney, Teyla, Ronon and I are all doing fine and, although the FaeNox would be extremely disappointed, we _are_ free to leave."

The general blinked once, slowly. "That's great. When can we expect you back?"

"About that, sir. You ever take a two-day trip and realize you're going to be stuck there for three months?"

"Actually? A lot, now that I think about it. Remind me to tell you about the time we went to P4X-639 and Teal'c and I wound up learning how to juggle and read Ancient in the three-ish months we spent stuck in a time loop. However, that's not the answer I wanted to hear from you Colonel. You were supposed to retrieve Dr. McKay and Teyla and then haul ass back here. Why the change in plans?"

John swallowed. This was the part where he had to tell the General that he'd essentially been conscripted by the other side. "I'm kinda the only person on the planet that can fly their city, and they've been wanting to get off of this rock for a while. My mother apparently set out to have kids with a strong Ancient gene carrier on purpose."

Rodney whacked him in the stomach and pushed his way into the camera angle. "More importantly, General O'Neill, I'm convinced that this city is running on Zed-PMs, or something incredibly similar. While Sheppard, Ronon, and Teyla are making nice with the locals, I'll be siphoning up any and all information I can on energy control matrices."

"Right… And what exactly is going to take three months? Because you could get to a very special city and back in far less than that amount of time."

"There's kind of a group of people who don't like me and don't like what the others are trying to do. I need to prove myself," John answered.

"Uh-huh. And McKay, your research is going to take that long because…?"

"Er, although they've shown me other things," Rodney was compelled to add, "they haven't offered to let me examine the city's core. Yet. Once they do, it shouldn't take me too long to figure it out, but the three months is just an outside bound."

"I see. Well, you've got me convinced, but I'll have to clear it with General Landry. Excuse me a moment." And after that bizarre pronouncement, he left their field of view and was gone for several minutes. When he returned, he cheerfully prodded, "So? What have you been up to?"

Then it clicked, and John knew he should have realized it sooner. Underneath the lazy good humor, General O'Neill was worried and wondering if they were perhaps being coerced somehow. Calling to mind the protocols for that, he navigated topics as varied as fishing, golf, and horse flying without giving any distress codewords. Finally, after being given multiple opportunities to slip in a reference to trouble, O'Neill's gaze hardened.

"Enough chit-chat. Lt. Colonel, I want you and your team back on US soil in three days. If not, all four of you will be marked as AWOL —"

"I am _not_ part of your military, or even your government!" Rodney hissed in protest.

"—as AWOL _and_ as potential enemy combatants. If you want to plead your case some more once you're here, fine. Do that. But you're going to do it from a briefing room back at the SGC. I don't like government organizations on my planet that I know nothing about. I suck at politics even when I _know_ where the country is and who the important diplomats are." The look he sent John was disapproving. "You might've been able to get away with skimping on the briefing reports on your contact missions before, but I'm not Elizabeth Weir, and I'm not Sam Carter. We all need to think about the big picture here. Sheppard, I have some serious issues to discuss with you, and I _will_ be seeing you soon, Colonel. O'Neill out."

…

…

"That went well."

* * *

The fun just kept on coming when word spread that they were planning on leaving the city. John was called to his grandmother's opulent receiving chamber where he was told in no uncertain terms that the FaeNox political situation would not allow for John's entire team to depart.

"Your choice, Jonquil, is to remain here while your companions leave or to take only one of them with you. Our people must have assurance that you will not abandon us."

"That's not going to look very good to them. You're already suspect for kidnapping Rodney and Teyla. Let us all go reassure the government folks, and I swear to you, I fully intend to come back. Read my mind. I'm telling the truth."

The Morrighan's eyes sharpened. "You _intend_ to return. So long as you acknowledge _humans_ as your masters, your intentions are worth midge-dung. They effectively hid you away entirely for the past four years — such that even my best hunters could not find trace of you. Even before that, locating you in those nasty, violent deserts, was extremely difficult. If you reveal your full range of abilities to your human masters, they would be fools to let you return. Choose one companion to travel with you, or remain here."

"I… I need to talk to my team before I decide. This doesn't affect just me."

She raised her hand to signal his dismissal.

Rodney, Ronon, and Teyla were waiting for him when he got back.

"Oh, good. You're back. When do we leave? Now?" Rodney asked. "If not, there's another experiment I want to run."

"Hold it, McKay. We've got another problem. She won't let all of us go. Either I stay and you all leave, or I take one of you with me and the other two stay here."

"Can she not see that holding us against our will reflects poorly upon her trustworthiness as an ally in the minds of the Earth military?" Teyla asked.

John sighed. "She sees that, but her people would string her up and eat her alive if she let me go without some sort of tie to draw me back."

"Literally?" Ronon asked, curious.

John considered. " _Probably_ not. Look, she's not forcing you to do anything. If you all want to leave, you're free to do so. But that means if I try to leave as well, well. Even with the four of us working together, we can't hold off an army of Fae. They'd keep me here by force."

"But if you don't go back…" Ronon said, understanding the issue.

"They'll court martial him _in absentia_ and list him as an enemy of their stupid States." Rodney spat. "We'd never see him again. He could never go home."

"That's not what matters here, Rodney." He looked evenly at all three of them. "My problems aren't your problems. They're not your crazy relatives. They're mine. So if you're tired of kicking it around here and want to go, that's what I want you to do."

"Does meeting with your grandmother make you stupid or something?" Ronon asked.

" _John,_ " Teyla commanded, arms raised and awaiting forehead expectant. John looked to Rodney and Ronon for support, but when he found none, he succumbed to the inevitable. « _Have you learned nothing in the past few days, John?_ » Teyla's voice chided in his mind. « _We are team. We are family. If you are unwilling to stay, they cannot have you. Do you_ want _to stay, John?_ »

Wordlessly, he shook his head.

"Then we shall stand with you." She tweaked the tips of his pointed ears as she drew back, letting him shield himself away again from her overwhelming flow of support.

John raised his eyes to Rodney's. "I'm sticking with you," the scientist said.

Ronon nodded, as if that decided everything. "It'll be most important for them to talk to you and Sheppard. Of the four of us, you're the two most valuable military assets."

"Then it is settled. Ronon and I will remain here," Teyla said.

"Teyla, Ronon, guys," he appealed to all three, "my grandmother's right. If the SGC and DHS get worried enough, they may prevent Rodney and I from returning. Between the city shields, the psychic barrier, and the time dilation technology, an ops team might never be able to reach you to get you out. If I'm not able to make it back… they won't kill you, but everyone you know and love will have died by the time they let you go free."

Unable to mount a logical counter-argument, Teyla's brow creased. "Then let us think positively. When you reach your leaders, you will entice them into seeking the FaeNox as an ally. That will be the only way to ensure peaceful negotiations continue between those in control."

Now Rodney looked worried. "Assuming there isn't some sort of a coup here or something. You Fae sure do like your uprisings and rebellions."

"We're all black sheep," John said, unable to disagree.

"So we have a plan," Ronon said, getting them to focus. "Teyla and I stay here. You and Rodney charm the brass."

The four of them traded looks.

"Let us think positively," Teyla urged, smile forced and bright.

Rodney sighed. "Right."

John scrubbed his hands through his hair and wondered if he was making the right choice letting his friends sacrifice themselves to the unknown. One thing he did know for certain — he couldn't have asked for and didn't deserve a better team.

* * *

Coming to a decision and knowing he'd rather be betrayed now rather than later, John penned a brief, but damning report on his FaeNox abilities. He also listed common abilities possessed by full-blooded Fae for comparison and potential tactical analysis. Showing up with only two out of four members of his team meant that he had to give the Generals reason to trust him.

When John and Rodney left the suite on the way to the city's docks, Taranis fell into step behind them and two other warriors stepped up to guard the veiled arch.

Rodney, without slowing his pace, twisted back to face their armed escort. "Is this really necessary?"

John neatly jerked him over to avoid Rodney running into a wall. "Be charming, McKay, remember?"

"He's not U.S. military," Rodney protested.

"Practice. You need it."

"Pfft. Like that'll ever work."

John sighed, knowing Rodney was right.

* * *

The _Daedalus_ picked them up from a backwater village and they were beamed into a circle of Zat guns held at the ready and Colonel Caldwell's disapproving frown just beyond them.

"I have a letter," John said, slowly holding up his scroll of vellum. Caldwell motioned and John gave it over to a solder, who passed it on to Caldwell himself after a cursory inspection. John locked eyes with the man. "General O'Neill's and General Landry's eyes only, Steven. Please."

Caldwell nodded. "I have orders to transport you both into a medical holding cell." He nodded to the ring operator. "Standby for transport."

"Ready, sir," said the junior lieutenant.

"Here, wait," Rodney said, then without showing enough caution, started digging around on his person to pull out a small slate. John stared the armed soldiers down, looking for any who might get cocky enough to shoot without Caldwell's order. "This is from the city," he said, passing it over. "Same stipulations. Generals' eyes only."

The slate got passed to Caldwell who nodded again and said, "Do it."

* * *

It was fairly well known among the personnel stationed at Cheyenne Mountain that General O'Neill was a man of few words, but of an easygoing nature unless matters were _really_ FUBAR. John, in particular, was still in the general's good graces for keeping them both alive after Carson had accidentally launched a drone. So when the General entered the conference room with a flinty-eyed and stone-jawed expression, John knew he was in for a bumpy ride. The scowl on Landry's face didn't bode well for them, either.

"Colonel, explain to me in small words how this isn't what it looks like," O'Neill ordered without an ounce of good humor in his voice.

"Sir?" Rodney and he had discussed this on the trip to the mountain — using vague terms, naturally. They weren't sure _what_ this would look like to the higher-ups.

"Is it or is it not true that two foreign allies of the Atlantis Expedition are being held in the hands of unknown combatants?"

"I wouldn't call them combatants, really," Rodney said. John kicked him under the table.

The General focused on McKay. "Are they capable of wiping out the eastern seaboard if they want to?" The scientist's silence spoke volumes. "Then they're combatants."

John could see Rodney chewing on his lip, but the struggle to stay silent was lost fairly quickly. "There is a big difference between being technologically capable and actually having the desire to inflict mass devastation — something your government should well know."

It would be out of turn for him to speak, so John shot him a look, willing Rodney to remember they were supposed to be _charming_.

"Save it, McKay," Landry ordered. "I'm the one calling the shots and I cannot base my military decision on the familial ties and the gut feelings of two individuals. It was out of respect for your judgment so far that we had this meeting with you after only a brief medical check. After we're done here, I'm putting you into the maniacal hands of my daughter and you won't be leaving the medical facilities until she can tell me exactly how many cilia you have in your small intestine."

Studied. John felt the room turn cold. They were going to study him. "Sirs," John interrupted, tone stiff and formal. "I informed you both of my abilities as a show of faith. The contract I signed with the United States did not include waiving my rights to not be a genetic experiment."

"It kinda did, a little, soldier," O'Neill said, expression softening. "There are a couple of loopholes that our lawyers exploit if it's needed. That said —"

"How completely and utterly unconscionable! What the hell kind of government system treats its own, hardworking citizens with all the ethical boundaries of cloned lab rats? This is exactly the reason I'm never applying for dual-citizenship. You can't keep me locked up forever. My government knows exactly how valuable I am and questions will be asked if your story doesn't match what I've been reporting back to them. So if you think I'm going to stand here and let you treat John like —"

"Dr. McKay!" Landry's bark was strong enough to grind Rodney's tirade to a halt. "Sit. Down." Rodney sat.

"Or better yet," O'Neill suggested, "make yourself useful and get Colonel Sheppard a glass of water. He's not looking well."

But before Rodney could move, O'Neill himself rose and walked to the sidebar. He poured four glasses and returned to the table, first dropping off his own and Landry's glasses, then thunking down Rodney's, then walking over to stand beside John. He put the glass in John's hand and ordered, "Drink."

John hesitated the barest second until he saw Landry sipping his, then gulped the liquid down in a few harsh swallows.

"As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted," O'Neill said lightly, "I'm making you a personal promise, John, that we won't be doing anything like that. Dr. Lam will be the only person in medical to know about your half-Nox ancestry. Genetics isn't her specialty, but even if she were so inclined, she has orders that it's a no-go and knows that if she ever gets the urge to play with hybrids, there are several Jaffa volunteers who'd be happy to help her out." The General was gazing at him steadily. "Officially and unofficially, the military's only interest in your medical records pertains to whether or not you may have been unduly influenced in some manner." He paused, waiting until John nodded his understanding. "I don't care who or what your parents are, Sheppard. You're one of mine, soldier. I'ma take care of you." He held out his hand for John to shake. "You read me?"

With a glance at Landry and a barely perceptible trembling, John reached up for the handshake. He tried to make it as brief as possible and stringently shielded his mind, but O'Neill held his hand firm and wouldn't let go.

"Do you read me?" the general asked again.

John lowered his barriers and O'Neill's thoughts came through bold and bright in John's mind. They matched everything that he'd said out loud. Cautiously, John dug deeper in the man's psyche, searching for any hint of deception, and found none. Grateful and relieved, he disentangled their minds. "Yes, sir. I read you. Thank you, General O'Neill, sir."

"Same goes for me, Sheppard," General Landry said as O'Neill reclaimed his chair. "There won't be any medical monkey business on my watch. I don't care who or what your mamma is — just that you've got this country's best interests at heart."

"Yes, sir!" John snapped a salute.

Rodney huffed softly. "I notice neither of you are giving _me_ your word." His anger was muted, but he was far from completely subdued. "I'm exercising my medical representation clause. I want Dr. Beckett involved in this. Him? I trust. You two military thugs? Not so much."

John kicked him again.

O'Neill shot Rodney an irritated glare. "I can make you disappear, McKay. That's what being Director of Homeworld Security means."

"Jack," Landry warned.

"Fine," O'Neill snapped. "I'll get the smart-mouthed Canadian's paperwork going and have something for you to officially sign in about four hours, which, incidentally, is about how long it'll take for Doctor Beckett's flight from New York. I consulted with him on the situation, leaving out the family/medical issues, considering the doc's specialty. It's up to you, John, on whether or not he gets brought in on this."

Rodney was giving him puppy-dog eyes.

"Fine by me. He's done good, ethics-wise, on the Ancient gene therapy. It'd be nice to keep him in the loop." And, maybe, he could stop having to fake all his injuries long after they'd healed.

O'Neill pushed up from the table, and stayed, leaning there, looking at John. "I don't want you to think it's personal, Sheppard, but I am going to let you know that I'm gonna initiate Operation Mindstorm when I leave this room."

Mindstorm, John remembered — the general's codes would all be scrubbed and reset… because they were potentially compromised if John had peeked. "I didn't. I wouldn't," he hastened to assure them.

O'Neill cast him a sad look."I believe you. It just has to be done. Hank'll keep you company while it's done." He tossed back the remainder of his drink, and strode out.

Landry danced his fingers in rhythm on the table a few times in the intervening silence. He checked the time, then switched to a new pattern. After he'd apparently decided that they'd stewed long enough, he fixed them with a piercing look.

"Boys, perhaps no one's thought to mention this to you before because it's something you're already supposed to know — this isn't exactly the time for Atlantis' premiere 'gate team and half of the city's command team to take a vacation. If you're feeling burned out and need some R&R, it would make my life a lot simpler if you lot stuck to the proper procedures."

John swallowed, feeling the slightest bit guilty. He'd spent half of yesterday riding a flying horse and forgetting those left on Atlantis were fighting a pitched battle against the Wraith. Missions wouldn't be scrubbed forever and it was a very real possibility that he might be returning to Atlantis to find he'd lost some of his men. Rodney, though, took the pressure off of him by calling attention to himself.

"General, did you read a single word of the report I prepared for you while I was having my rectum inspected for alien devices? I realize, with it being written on a computer that won't readily integrate with our own and all, that it would take a bit longer for your trained goons to retype it and break it down into words of two syllables or fewer; but surely you didn't miss where it said Zed-PM, in like, forty-two places? Do you know how much _time_ I've wasted, going on stupid diplomatic missions to trade for _fungus_ or how much time I've spent imprisoned on some backwater planet whose idea of technology is scratching at their fleas with a stick? These people, the FaeNox, have multiple working time dilation field generators — something which even your precious Samantha Carter can verify takes a tremendous amount of energy to operate. They use the fields _for fun_ — for month-long orgies! Do you know what having that kind of disposable power means? It means if your military got a hold of that kind of near-limitless energy, you wouldn't be able to keep the geeks and soldiers from fucking in the hallways out of sheer effervescent joy. Sheppard's on our side, but the people that matter over there consider him one of them. By spending a bit more time there, we may obtain one of our strongest allies yet."

Mortified at Rodney's colorful examples, John watched helplessly as the general hid his head in his hands and the man's shoulders set to barely quivering in what John hoped was repressed amusement, but could've been unholy, soon-to-be-unrepressed rage. After the movement stopped and his hands were lowered, Landry's face was completely impassive for a long, terrible minute.

"Jack and I read your reports. All _three_ of them." He looked at Rodney and finally, finally, John saw the slightest tell that Landry had wanted to bust a gut laughing. But then the general looked at John and his face then turned wholly stern and serious. "I simply wanted to see what you had to say for yourselves. Don't disappoint me, Sheppard."

"I'll do my best, sir," John answered, feeling chastened (and grateful that he wasn't being punished for Rodney's mouth).

"See that you do." The General's eyes narrowed as they turned to Rodney, as if he wanted to say something other than what he actually did — a mocking, courteously pleasant, "Dr. McKay."

Landry left without another word.

Once the door was safely closed, Rodney let out a dramatic sigh. He turned and stage-whispered to John, "They keep a stock of fresh underwear around here, right? 'Cause I think I might have shit myself a little."

"McKay!" John roared, grossed out and furious all at the same time. "On what planet — in what _galaxy_ — was _that_ considered _charming?_ "

Rodney laughed, slapping John on the shoulder."Eh, it worked, didn't it? Besides," he gave John's shoulder a squeeze and John let the warmth of his friend's touch sink into him. "They would've locked us up for sure if I'd been nice."

John burst out laughing, Rodney following suit. In retrospect, Rodney was probably right.

Rodney got them both some more water, but let his fingers linger on John's glass a moment longer as he passed it over. "Thank you for agreeing to Carson. I hate hiding big things like this," Rodney confided.

John did a double-take. "Rodney, you get paid obscene amounts of money to keep things like this secret."

"Just because I _can_ keep my mouth shut doesn't mean I like doing it. Besides, while the confidentiality contract covers everything, most things I typically would want to share are science-related; and well, to be honest, pretty much anyone capable of actually understanding my papers is already on the expedition. So, moot point. There's not much temptation to avoid. But you having superpowers? The mere mortal sidekick always needs someone to talk to."

John searched his extensive geek knowledge and thought about that. "True. Usually puts the sidekick and his friend in danger, though."

"Eh." Rodney shrugged. "So what else is new?"

John had to concede that point too.

* * *

Rodney suffered manfully as he and John were then poked and prodded (clothed, thankfully) for several more hours by Dr. Lam. Then, when Carson finally arrived (again, much to Rodney's joy) the vampire started the process all over again. This time, though, Carson separated them, tending to Rodney first and peppering him with question after question about John's abilities as he worked.

"Why are you asking me?" Rodney whined. "John knows more."

" _John_ knows more?" Carson said, clearly vexed. "Are we talkin' 'bout the same Colonel Sheppard who keeps his lips as tight as a kettle drum and avoids me at all cost? The same one who's lied to me for years now, I find? Are we talkin' 'bout the same man here, Rodney? Of course I'll be checking his story as best I can! I don't suppose —" But Rodney never would find out what Carson supposed because his friend dropped off speaking mid-syllable and rapped on his handheld instrument. "Hello? What is this?"

Rodney was shown the device's screen, but it was all letter and numbers and gibberish to him.

"There's something different about your mast cells and basophils," Carson explained. "Your blood pressure's too low, too."

"Huh? In English? Also — too low?"

"Mastocytes and basophil granulocytes are cells that produce histamine. You know what _that_ is quite well, don't you? As for your blood pressure, well. It's not _too_ low. It's more like, _normal_ — which for you means it's too low."

"Huh. The she-witch didn't tell me." At Carson's alarmed expression, he hurried on to explain. "I told one of the FaeNox about my food allergies and he said he couldn't have me dying accidentally, so he healed me. Said he'd lowered my blood pressure, too, but that the effect wouldn't last forever."

Carson looked at him, wide-eyed. "How long ago was this?"

"A week and a half, more or less."

The answer seemed to alarm Carson even more. "Rodney, according to all the reports I've read, you were on Atlantis then."

Rodney winced. "Time dilation field."

"'Time dilation field' he says!" With a snort, Carson turned and went hunting for more voodoo instruments and sample vials.

"Oh, come on!"

Unrepentant of his blood-sucking ways, Carson merely gathered more items and set them neatly in rows, ready to use. "I suppose the Colonel was exposed to a time dilation field, too?"

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Not to my knowledge."

Carson hummed his disbelief and set to pocking and prodding again. When Rodney whined and complained again, hoping to get out of it, Carson shushed him with the explanation that the two doctors would be keeping their samples, notes, and tests separate.

"In the long term, that'll be best." Carson explained. "Carolyn and I agreed. She'll be doing the bare minimum in testing… just enough to verify the results I send back and to make sure that my own reports aren't trying to hide anything. The bulk of my research, though, I'll be doing on Atlantis. Although they've scavenged some excellent equipment for here, the city's an all-around better environment." He looked at Rodney meaningfully. "More secure, too."

Some time later, after Rodney had spilled more of John's secrets and was feeling more like a pincushion than a man, Rodney watched Carson washing up. The man came over and hopped up the exam bed alongside Rodney and bumped their shoulders together gently.

"Everything else going okay for you, my friend?"

Rodney sighed. Carson would never believe it. "I'm fine. I'm absolutely convinced they've got Zed-PMs there, or something equally powerful and I've been —"

"Rodney," Carson said gently.

Rodney slumped and let his head rest a bit on Carson's shoulder. Right now, with familiar concrete walls surrounding him, the FaeNox city seemed like a far-off dream.

"Sheppard's a pain in the ass."

Carson chuckled. "I don't doubt. I'll bend my ethics just a wee bit and give him a bit of payback for you," he said, clearly not meaning it (probably), but Rodney still appreciated the sentiment. "Ye're gettin' along well enough then?"

"Yeah," Rodney said, nodding. "It's been — weird." Rodney dropped his voice to a tiny whisper, conscious of what damage this talk could do to Sheppard's career. "All the Fae seem to think John's in love with me. When they talk to me, everyone but his mother refers to him as 'your John.'"

"Och, I see. And so?"

"What do you mean?"

Carson gave him a pitying look. "All right, Rodney. Never you mind. Just…" Instead of speaking, Carson squeezed his knee and hopped down from the table. "The others — Ronon and Teyla — they looked well, too?" he asked, bringing their conversation back to more familiar ground.

"Yeah. Fine."

"Teyla's taking it easy?"

"Uh…" Rodney shrugged, not really knowing the answer. "Should she be?"

"No! No, not at all." Carson turned back to his instruments and fiddled ineffectively. Rodney immediately suspected something was up, but impressed himself by figuring it really wasn't his place to pry. Carson finally turned back and pulled him into a tight hug. "You all take care of each other now, hear? I've got a secret-keeping Lt. Colonel to tend to now."

Rodney clapped him on the back. "Okay, yeah. Go easy on him, all right? He had his reasons for keeping stuff from us."

Expression pained, the doctor nodded. "Aye, I know. Still smarts a little though, you know?"

Glumly, Rodney nodded, then squeezed Carson back. "It's been good to see you."

Carson beamed back. "Ditto, my friend."

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

Rodney made it back with John to the FaeNox city late that same evening. Sheppard's thug cousin met them at the dock again and herded John away, leaving Rodney trailing helplessly after them until Dana popped up and led him back to John's home. By then he was in too much of a foul mood to do more than grunt his thanks and he wearily crawled into bed with only a half-conscious worry about what John was up to.

The next morning, Rodney was awakened by Ronon's angry, booming voice and he skidded out into the common area in just a loose pair of pants.

"Are we prisoners here on not?" Ronon was demanding.

"Not," John said, with only a faint hint of exasperation in his voice. "I'm just not sure it's a good idea. For all that this city appears to be similar to Atlantis, it isn't. And with political tensions high, I just… it'd be better if you didn't go out on your own."

They were all going a little stir-crazy and while Rodney's day-to-day schedule hadn't changed much (he'd swapped his own lab for Liam's), he knew the others were all used to more physical activity. Teyla — who had joined them in the common area by that time — alone appeared serene, but even she had acquired a keen glint to her eyes when Ronon again insisted on taking a run this morning.

"Even though the FaeNox have restricted our movements, I do not feel we are in danger here," she said. "They are your people, John. Surely we all are welcome?"

John sighed. "All right." He fixed Rodney with a look. "But we all go and," he turned that same look on Ronon, "we all stick together. No running ahead."

"What's this 'Let's be careful' all of a sudden?" Rodney asked, blearily recalling the events of yesterday evening.

"Taranis had me meet up with my grandmother last night. She's worried about how some of the Fae are reacting to us."

"To _you_ ," Rodney said pointedly.

John nodded. "To me."

Teyla touched John on the shoulder. "We shall heed your words of caution, but I perceived no situation of danger during my interactions with your mother and grandmother yesterday," she said.

"After dinner, while you were back here, somebody stirred up some trouble," John said with a grimace. "I'm part human and I've been raised human, so I've never had the urge to pull pranks. The FaeNox here have no concept of moderation, of denying their whims, and they can be provoked into causing harm at the slightest offence."

"Again, John, that is not true for the Fae I have met," Teyla argued.

"Liam's not like that, either," Rodney interjected.

"They're all used to being leaders and not following their whims," John explained. "Restraint happens every now and then, or else they wouldn't still be a functional civilization. The lesser FaeNox, though, they're not as picky about where they get their fun."

Ronon rolled his shoulders. "I don't need anything but my bare hands to take care of _fairies_."

"I hear ya, buddy. Even so," John said, "let's keep it casual. No need to wear out our welcome." The two warriors nodded their assent.

Which was all very well in good, but no one seemed to realize Rodney had never agreed to _running_. "It may have escaped your notice, but —"

"Get a move on, McKay," Ronon grunted. "Or I'll drag you out there in what you're wearing right now, and dump you in a fountain… just like last time."

Rodney's arms moved self-consciously to cover his chest. "That was you?" Rodney sputtered. He'd been barely cognizant of his surroundings when something similar had happened a few weeks ago on a mission.

John glared at him. "It's going to be all of us if you don't play ball, Rodney."

"I thought we were running! Make up your mind, Captain America."

"I am sure," Teyla broke in, "we can keep to a moderate pace, Dr. McKay, so that you do not become overtired too quickly."

"Yippee," Rodney enthused with more sarcasm than vigor.

"Aw, admit it, Rodney," John wheedled. "You were getting bored just sitting around."

"I spent all of yesterday having every crevice of my body examined three times over and getting yelled at by members of _your_ military!"

John smirked. "And you were sitting through almost all of it."

"I _like_ being bored," Rodney whined, since they all knew John was right. "Especially when the alternative is smelly, sweaty exhaustion that serves no purpose!" Rodney grouched, but he obligingly moved to get dressed. Ronon _would_ make good on his threat. Once clothed, he ventured out into the hall with the others and began to jog.

* * *

The thing was, he really _did_ prefer boredom over life threatening peril. John was probably the opposite, but from looking at him, Rodney couldn't tell what sort of trouble they were in. Ten minutes into their run/jog/trot, with Ronon zipping ahead and bounding back like a long-legged cocker spaniel, a FaeNox appeared in the middle of their path. Ronon was closest at first, but he moved back to their group for solidarity.

The elfin man came forward, cocking his head and gazing at Sheppard. "I would have thought you'd be uglier, disfigured. Humans are so very, very plain. You're too pretty."

Sheppard made frantic looks at everybody, but even Teyla seemed cowed into speechlessness and her customary soothing mediation skills seemed to have fled.

"Uh… sorry?" Sheppard croaked out, an embarrassed half-grin making an appearance in a failed attempt to be amiable.

The Fae turned suspicious, rising up into Sheppard's space, their faces mere inches from each other. Habit made Rodney reach down for a P90 that wasn't there.

" _Why_ are you sorry, halfling?"

"For… uh… not meeting… your expectations." John said, playing the noble martyr and stepping away from the rest of them, so that he was receiving the FaeNox's full attention.

"Oh, I see," the Fae said, smiling with clear malevolence. "I could _fix_ that. Would you _like_ that, halfling?"

"No!" the three of them answered in one voice for him.

"He would _not_ like that," Rodney put in, stepping to John's side.

"Sheppard's fine the way he is," Ronon growled as they drew together, forming a protective flank between John and the strange Fae.

"We were on our way to see John's mother," Teyla lied. "She will miss us if we delay any longer."

Rodney glanced behind him. Sheppard usually wasn't this passive. There was a tremor running through John's body and he looked rooted to the spot. Not literally, at least, given the creepy abundance of things that would make Atlantis' botany department squeal with glee. Some _Faerie_ thing was going on and, damn it, they hadn't talked through what to do about it.

"John!" he called, snagging Sheppard's sleeve and giving it a tug. In seeming response, Sheppard's upper lip pulled back, showing clenched teeth.

The Fae snarled, baring his own incisors.

"Zalekh!" a childishly young voice called out.

The Fae facing off against them jerked, then turned and snarled at the boy. John listed forward, catching himself on Rodney and Teyla's shoulders. He shook himself and quickly regained his footing, locking eyes with Rodney. Whatever spell had held him in its grip was gone now. Rodney tightened his grip on John — just in case, of course, then analyzed the interaction between their attacker and the young newcomer.

"I'm telling Granmere what you tried to do," the boy-sized Fae said. It was the same one from the balcony with the pegasus, Rodney remembered.

"I'll eat you for breakfast!" the elder Fae snarled.

The boy blew a raspberry. Some things, it seemed to Rodney, were universal. "Not today you won't, mudbottom!" the boy jeered. He fixed the intimidating Fae with an evil look. "My _mother's_ looking for you now. She knows what you were up to."

With a final snarl, their attacker melted into thin air.

When Rodney finished blinking his surprise at the sudden disappearance and had let go of John, he saw the kid scan Sheppard from toes to hair tips and back down.

The boy offered up a shy smile and held out his hand. "You shake hands to say hello, right? That's how I learned it."

"Well, actually for meeting touch telepaths," Rodney began. "It's better if —"

"Put a sock in it, McKay." John cut him off, giving the boy a grin as their palms met. "That's what shields and good manners are for. Thanks for the assist just now, kid."

The boy flushed and John squinted at him. "You are a kid, right? I know the Fae can be a little funky with the whole physical age thing."

"I'm about as old as I look," the boy said with an unhappy grimace.

"Hey," John said. "Did anyone teach you what humans do to congratulate each other on an awesome job? No? It's called a 'high-five.' You hold your hand up like this." He held his palm up to demonstrate and waited for the child to mimic him. "And now we…" _Smack!_ "See? There we go."

The boy beamed.

"So." John's tone turned serious. "What was that creep doing to me? I couldn't figure it out."

"That was Zalekh," the boy said, making a face. "He likes turning people into things — frogs, donkeys, there was even an automobile once."

"Does he perform actual transmutation?" Rodney asked.

"I don't know what that word means," the boy explained, "but when Zalekh makes you into something, you stay that way. I'm Kelvyn, by the way."

"It is nice to meet you, Kelvyn. I am Teyla," she greeted.

Introductions were made all around and Rodney wanted to ask more about the whole transmutation thing, but John's worrying preempted satisfying Rodney's curiosity.

"I knew we had to be careful if we ventured out of our protected area," John said, "but I thought the Morrighan was putting a stop to Fae toying with humans like that."

"She is, and Zalekh keeps getting punished, but she can't really do anything about it because he's our strongest healer. His healing gift's so strong that he can use it outside of a power triangle to shift people's bodies. I don't think he'll bother you again, though. He wasn't going to win against you. All I did was break his concentration and give him an excuse to leave and save face. You're too strong to let him change you."

Rodney barely heard John mutter, "Didn't feel that way to me."

The boy's eyes grew large and hopeful. "I could…" But his face suddenly crumpled unhappily and he looked down. "I gotta go," he said to their shoes; then he turned and ran, disappearing around a corner before anyone could get another word out.

Baffled silence held brief reign.

"Was that weird?" Sheppard asked.

"That was weird," Ronon answered.

Rodney shook his head. From his perspective, _this whole week_ was weird.

"I suggest we make our way back to John's apartment," Teyla said. "I thought the time I had spent here already would prepare me for interacting with the Fae. Clearly, we all have much to learn."

With Teyla in the lead, they followed along behind, Ronon picking up their six.

* * *

To prevent Rodney's murder, John had Teyla detour past his grandfather's labs on their way back, where Rodney was instructed to stay until Dana or one of them came for him.

Once back at their temporary home, Teyla and Ronon disappeared out onto the balcony to kick each other's asses around for a bit, leaving John to stew. He found on a shelf in a hidden nook, a set of books his mother must have purchased for him. Looking through his choices, John selected _Kidnapped!_ by Robert Lewis Stevenson, and settled down to read. The Morrighan had made clear there wasn't much he was going to be able to do until later tonight. He had to play it cool to prevent his team from protesting.

For their own safety, Rodney, Teyla, and Ronon would be remaining behind. It was inconceivable that, within this city that could be Atlantis' twin in size, there was no space that could hold the full Court — but the meeting place was on the Isle of Skye so that all could attend, those living both in the city and those outside.

John picked Rodney up from the lab and was treated to a long discourse on energy theories. From what John could follow, Rodney was making progress in his ZPM research. Later, after dinner, John excused himself from his team and met his mother down at the stables. His mother's mount, Corona, was a large black mare with a mane and tail that burned with orange fire. John wasn't sure if the magic was that nothing was set aflame, or if the fire itself was the illusion. Either way, rider and mount were easy to follow as he and Scáth crossed above ocean, hill, and dale until finally Scáth's hooves touched down upon the earth.

They were out on the moors, in some desolate place, with only heather, crowberry, and milling sheep breaking up the monotony of emptiness. Three huge bonfires, hundreds of meters equidistant, lit the scene, sending up smoky ash and filling the night air with the scent of burning peat. The High Court was gathered in the brightest spot at the center, while the lesser Fae crowded and reveled in the darker fringes, further from the light. Further out still and masked by the night, pipers and drummers played an eerie tune, flirtatious and mysterious by turns. John had never been to such a meeting before and he stayed close to his mother's side.

For her part, his mother chivvied and prodded until John stood face to face with his grandmother. The Morrighan was dressed in her finest gown of fern green. An elaborate diadem of gold and emeralds perched on her brow. When a shrill whistle went out and the assembled Fae Host fell silent, all eyes focused upon their queen.

"Step forward, Jonquil, son of Danu," she said, loud enough for her voice to carry across the moors. "By his presence, my grandson shows he will stay to assist us and I am pleased. We have need of his special skills and on this night, I shall name him _Gaisgeach_ and he shall reunite us with our ancestors, as was intended since before his birth."

"Deceiver!" a raspy voice called out. "Unworthy!" rattled another. "Lie _ssssss_ ," hissed yet another voice.

"Silence!" barked a deep voice from nearby. The crowd moved, swelled, parted to reveal his grandfather, the Fae King — for once not ink-smeared or rumpled, but regal in a flowing suit to match his queen. "The child has accomplished much in his human life. His _cridhe_ has told me many of his great deeds." Although the more refined Fae in the bonfires' light remained impassive, boos and jeers echoed from the corners of the rabble. "He may have not been raised here, but he is one of us."

"Half-breed! Half-breed! Half-breed!" the lesser Fae chanted.

"He bears a dual-gift," John's mother tossed back. "None else among us can fully wake the ancient devices."

"We need him," insisted a finely-dressed Fae John thought he recognized as his mother's older sister, Maeve.

A clean-cut Fae in a human business suit stepped forward then, smile thin and calculating. "Not all of us are so willing to relinquish our ties to this planet. I, for one, require more convincing that he is worthy to be named _Gaisgeach_. There are others who share my views."

"What do you propose, Alasdair?" the Morrighan invited.

The Fae's teeth were neat and even. "Put the boy to the test! Let him prove his worth — prove that he is one of us — prove that he is worthy to be _Gaisgeach_!"

"Yessss! He must be tested!" a reptilian humanoid chimed in. Murmurs of agreement broke out all across the glade.

 _Test him! Test him! Test him!_ The chant broke out and took up volume as the FaeNox frenzied at the thought.

The image of an enormous green dragon sprang into view above the heads of the crowd. The dragon blew a breath of fire into the air, but John felt no heat. Then, he realized his grandmother was casting a moving illusion for all who were gathered. Now that he knew the truth, he could see patches of the cloudy sky through the dragon's scales if he squinted his eyes just _so_.

"Silence." Between the dragon and her command, the Morrighan got her desired effect. "My decree is this: the first test shall be tomorrow at high noon in the warrior's circle. Let those attend who wish to and let no more be spoken on the matter tonight. For now, we feast!"

With a cry born of hundreds of mouths, the Fae made song and merry. They would continue for hours — until false dawn crawled up over the horizon — before heading home and finding their beds.

For John, a stone of fear settled in his stomach and churned. Tomorrow, he would be tested.

* * *

Pounding on his door and a shouted, "Sheppard?" woke John mere moments before Rodney spilled through the archway and took a double-take at John in bed.

"Were you asleep? At this hour?"

John gave him a dirty look. "I _was_."

Rodney rocked back on his heels. "What time did you get back?"

"A little after five."

Lips twisted into a screw of disapproval. "In the morning?! That's less than three hours ago."

John sighed. "Believe me, I know."

Rodney deflated a little more. "You, uh, want me to scram?"

John motioned to an empty chair and shook his head. "No, I won't be able to get back to sleep now."

"I could go see if there's some sort of drowsy tea, or something," Rodney offered.

"Nah. Wouldn't drink it if you did. At noon," John said with false cheer, "I'm going to be _tested_."

"Pulling a sword out of a stone, or what?"

"There might be swords, stones, and pulling involved, but probably not together." Rodney shot him a puzzled look and John explained, "It's supposed to be in the 'Warrior's Circle,' so I'm assuming a fight of some kind."

"You've got to be kidding."

"Nope. Wish I was."

* * *

Teyla shifted again on the bench between Rodney and John's mother, trying to find a spot where the plane of the wood's surface did not adversely affect the circulation in her posterior. For all their technological advances, the FaeNox did not put much thought into the comfort of their communal seating.

Somewhere across the wide, open room, someone struck up a shrill tune on some sort of a silver pipe, causing Rodney to groan and cross his arms.

"It should not be much longer," she reminded him, waiting until he actually met her eyes. "All will be well, and if something were to go wrong, John is lucky to have people here who are concerned for his well-being."

She could see him clenching his jaw to remain quiet and silently applauded his efforts. Rodney had taken the news of John's… unusual ancestry… with more difficulty than she herself had. She thought they had resolved their difficulties, but today, Rodney had been uncharacteristically subdued, casting contemplative glances in their team leader's direction when he thought himself unobserved. Presently, the stress was pouring off the man, and it was wearing Teyla's patience thin trying to keep him settled.

She caught Ronon's eye over on the other side of Rodney and motioned for him to distract the scientist.

"John admitted to us at lunch that he was to undergo a trial by combat," Teyla said in an undertone to John's mother. "You are unconcerned for his safety?"

"I don't anticipate anything going wrong," Dana said with a shrug. "Though, I heard about the mishap you all had yesterday morning. I don't think anything like that will happen during the trial. John will be fighting against his cousin, Taranis, so it's highly unlikely that they'll cause each other permanent harm. It is more dangerous that John remain unaccepted by the rest of the Fae, but I can't let myself dwell on such thoughts. Proving himself in combat will do much to dissuade those who are inclined to be pranksters."

Which told Teyla nothing at all about those Fae who might attempt to inflict upon them a more serious type of harm.

"What our Jonquil probably didn't tell you is that it's not just one test. There will be a series."

"And if he fails at something?" Ronon asked, slapping a hand over Dr. McKay's mouth and holding him in place.

"Then, likely, nothing much will change, as my mother's mind is set," Dana admitted. "He will still be asked to fly the city. But the fault will incite those Fae against reunification into taking further action. Let us hope our John is successful."

* * *

Between them, Teyla and Ronon were able to keep Rodney in his seat and under control while John battled against his cousin using a wide variety of blades, clubs, and spears in quick succession. He fought to a draw each time, until John's spear snapped in half under a crushing blow from Taranis. Dana gasped, but Teyla felt a surge of pride when John immediately treated the broken spear pieces as Bantos rods; and, while she could see that the balance of the weapons was no longer suitable, John had no trouble putting his opponent in the dirt.

"Yes!" Dr. McKay crowed.

For several moments, the assembled Fae shouted and called — most in approval, some in dismay. Gold, silver, precious gems, and something that looked like bright feathers on a string, changed hands as wagers on the outcome of the fight were settled. As the crowd thinned and dispersed, she nodded to Ronon and they each released their hold on Dr. McKay who popped up and began rushing over.

With a growled, "McKay!" Ronon followed in quick pursuit, while Teyla and Dana followed at a more sedate pace.

By the time she reached John's side, the scientist was fussing over a bleeding injury on John's arm.

"Rodney, be still," she urged. "It is merely a shallow scratch."

"Yeah, made by something diseased that was probably used to pick someone's nose at one time."

Teyla raised an eyebrow. The blade was of such a width as to easily invalidate the doctor's supposition. "I am sure his mother will ensure he is healed after today's trials."

"That is not the plan for today," the Morrighan said, drawing nearer, followed by seven or eight others. "There is a second part to this test. John will demonstrate his ability to heal… beginning with his own injury. Proceed, Jonquil."

John looked like he wanted to protest, but dutifully covered the wound with his hand and closed his eyes in concentration. There was the faintest aura of golden-brown light coming from beneath John's hand. When he pulled it away, the blood remained, but the skin was smooth.

"That's amazing," Rodney said, poking at the spot.

"Hands off, McKay," John snapped, but his expression softened at Rodney's hurt look. "I'm tired and it's too hard to block you when we're touching."

"Oh, right. Sorry," Rodney said, wilting even more. Teyla gave him a squeeze of support.

"Perhaps you will allow John to rest, now," Teyla suggested to Anann and the rest, but the Fae Queen shook her head.

"Now he must heal his cousin."

As Teyla watched with helpless frustration, John shuddered and lost all sense of rational perspective.

"No. No, I can't! Don't make me… I won't be able to —"

Dana gathered her son into her arms, soothing, "John, John, my John." But the Colonel was inconsolable. Dana looked up at them. "All three of you, touch him, please. Think _soothing_ thoughts," she said, looking at Rodney in particular.

Teyla and Ronon each took an arm, leaving Rodney to press his touch to John's brow.

« _We are here, John. You are safe. Everything is all right._ »

Slowly, the Colonel's tense form relaxed. It was only a matter of seconds later when he began to struggle away from their attentions. Teyla relinquished her grip with a soft caress.

John pulled himself up straight and looked at Anann with hardened eyes. "You want me to try healing him? _Fine._ "

His hand slapped down on one of Taranis' scratches with a _smack!_ that made Teyla wince in sympathy, but no glow came, even after a long moment.

"I can't," John said shortly. "All right? I've tried. I can't."

"Perhaps you need an incentive," one of the Fae standing behind Anann suggested. Ronon caught the man's hand as he tried to attack Rodney with a palm-sized blade, but the Fae just chuckled and the weapon flew in gravity-defying loops to slice across a stunned Rodney's face.

Teyla was grateful Rodney had Ronon's support as blood started gushing from the cut. While John was caught between shock and launching himself at the Fae, Teyla intervened, placing herself between them.

"That was unnecessary and unwise," she told Rodney's attacker, but her concern for Rodney drew her attention again.

Rodney's face was jumping between twisted anguish and a still mask — as if his natural inclination were to grimace, but the expression pained him too greatly to maintain it. He was sobbing softly and John went to him, pressing his hand against the bleeding wound. A minute passed. Then two. Then three. Drops of moisture streaked down John's cheeks, but no golden-brown glow was emitted from his hand. Rodney's wound was still bleeding as hard as before.

"This is highly unusual," the Morrighan observed.

"Mother! My son is a hybrid. We all anticipated that he would have some difficulty with gifts we consider basic. If you just —"

"I can't," John said, letting his hand drop. "I couldn't in Afghanistan, and I can't now. It's not going to happen." He hugged his mother around her shoulders, getting the top of her shirt bloody. She didn't seem to notice. "I conduit just fine, mom, so use my energy to heal him, okay? Please?"

Dana's look was sympathetic. "Of course, John." The moment she touched Rodney's skin with a single fingertip, Rodney drew in a sudden, shaky breath.

"Dr. McKay? Rodney?" they asked, concerned.

"She took the pain away first," he said, even as the wound on his face began to close over and seal itself up. "Ugh. I must look disgusting. Am I going to scar?"

John pulled Rodney in for a quick hug. "You look just fine, McKay."

Rodney batted him away, good-naturedly. "Liar."

John smirked.

Teyla left them to their moment and looked instead between the Fae in the business suit and the Morrighan. "Was this violence truly necessary?" Teyla demanded.

"Perhaps not," Anann replied, looking for the first time as mercurial as John claimed she was. "But now we have learned a great deal."

"Well, if I was crying in pain for _educational reasons_ , I guess that makes it all okay then!" Rodney snapped.

The Morrighan eyed him coolly. "The second test shall be after dinner, in the grand banquet hall. You are all welcome to join us for the meal and observe."

John let his wide-angled glare do his talking for him. Instead, he curled a protective arm around Rodney. "C'mon, buddy. You may still look pretty, but that blood'll be a bitch to scrub off if you let it dry much longer." He started herding Rodney away. "Ronon? Take our six. Teyla?"

John was asking if she was going to follow or stay here — like she would deign to stay here with these beings of such crass morals.

"I will take point, John. It is of no use to remain here further." She leveled a disapproving gaze at the rest of their company, then took the lead back to John's dwelling.

Before they could get very far, she heard a woman call out, "Jonquil!" Teyla stopped, thinking it was Dana; but when she turned back, John's face was grim and it was a different older woman.

"It's my aunt. Keep going," John grunted.

"Understood." It wasn't for her to question John's relationship with his birth family, so long as he ceded to the bonds of his family-by-choice.

* * *

The second trial was supposedly very simple, though John had some major issues with being blindfolded and then being expected to navigate a deadly path. The Morrighan had said they were testing his hearing, but that seemed a little odd as he was led, sight already hampered, from a preparing room to the event hall. Somewhere in the crowded large room, a gong struck.

"Save for the Leader, there will be silence in the hall!" John's grandmother called out. "To successfully complete this test, Jonquil must navigate the maze without overstepping the boundaries. Begin!"

 _How was he supposed to do that?_

"Step forward 10 paces," a man's voice boomed.

 _A listening test, huh?_ With a sigh, John stepped forward and began to count… 7… 8…

 _«Wait! Wait, wait, wait!_ » a young voice called out inside his head. _«Don't take another step forward. Turn to your left and take three — augh, no — maybe four steps now. You keep changing the length of your stride!_ » the voice complained.

 _«Why should I listen to you?_ »John asked the boy.

 _«I've helped you before. The Leader, the rest of them, they want you to fail._ »

 _«And you don't?_ » __

 __

 _«No. Of course not. And if you want to pass this, you'll turn left._ »

John couldn't be sure of the boy's motives without digging deeper into the stranger's mind. It would take time he didn't have. John got the impression, though, that his helper was the boy from earlier — the one who had interfered with the Fae who liked transmogrification.

John turned left.

« _Whew! Okay. This'll be easy. Just ignore him and listen to me._ »

They fell into a rhythm. John learned to even out the length of his stride under the guidance of his young friend. The boy guided him faithfully, reacting calmly to John's missteps and getting him back on track without making John even more nervous.

"The test is complete. You have listened well," the official Leader said, not sounding very enthused. "Now for part two," the man said darkly.

« _John! Shield!_ » the boy called.

The warning came just in time, so he was prepared when a mind — this one feeling like a thorny, long-tentacled starfish — threw itself against his.

« _Bleat like the sheep you are, human!_ »

Against his will, his arms locked in place and his teeth unclenched. "B-, Ba-, B-." « _I can't keep him out!_ »

« _Yes, you can! Just like with Zalekh. Nobody's been able to hold Zalekh off as long as you did. Grieg's not even that strong. You can win this! Don't just try to wall him off. Fill up all the spaces in your mind and push yourself out._ »

"Ba-" John patched up the latest chink in his shield and tried to do what the boy was telling him. It wasn't something he'd had much practice with.

« _All of you is you. All of that out there — that's you, too. Claim it! Make it yours!_ »

"B-" « _Mr. Miyagi you ain't, kid,_ » John spared a moment to send. He tried again.

All of him was him. "B-" All of that out there was… "Ba-" was… was… _huh._ Still blindfolded, John grinned. All of that out there? Was _his._

"Bastard," John said, and ripped off the blindfold with newly-autonomous hands. "Who's the sheep now?" He _pushed_.

"Baa, baaa," bleated the Fae, signaling the cheers.

« _Yes! I_ knew _you could do it!_ »

« _Hey, where are you?_ » John asked, looking around at the giddy Fae. « _This totally calls for a high-five, buddy._ »

He scanned the crowd, but instead of finding the boy, John was swamped with the feeling of utter misery.

« _I'm sorry. I can't. Mother says… It's… I'm sorry._ »

John let his mind chase back down the connection and softly _pushed_ the feeling of a loose hug towards the kid. « _It's okay. I don't quite get what the issue is, but it's okay. Thank you._ »

The sensation of a return hug was so quick and so light that John was sure he'd imagined it.

* * *

Rodney watched Sheppard standing stock-still on the floor. The Colonel's eyes were focused strangely on the empty ground. Rodney nudged Dana.

"Is he all right?"

She inhaled sharply. "I think he's speaking mentally to the _person_ who helped him during the trial."

"Helped him fight off Sheep-man?" Rodney asked, not following.

She suppressed a smile. "No, your John was able to do that all on his own. He had help with the maze."

It wasn't the answer Rodney had been expecting. "John did that —" He waved in the direction the angry Fae had stomped. "— all on his own?"

"It is possible for some Fae to play puppet-master with those of weaker minds. I didn't know until just now that Jonquil possessed the skill. It was not something I ever taught him to do." She leaned in closer and said in an undertone, "Don't tell him I said this, but I was hoping he would fail. The ability is necessary when living amongst the Fae; even children are taught basic mental defense and offense. But with John choosing to live among humans… I never wanted him to wield that power over them… for his own sake."

"Over weaker minds." Now he understood why Dana had wanted Teyla and Ronon to remain behind. Feeling very cold again, Rodney asked, "Would I know? Would I know if he'd done that to me? Could he make me forget that he'd made me do something?"

"It… depends on the Fae's strength and abilities."

She didn't say no. Rodney's heart clenched.

"Ask him," Dana insisted. "Don't think about it. Don't you dare think about it. Just ask him for the truth."

Knowing that the other way lay madness, Rodney did.

* * *

"We need to talk," Rodney said. He was standing beside Sheppard in the event arena, having made his way around and sometimes over the maze to the man's side.

"Uh, all right. About what?"

Rodney couldn't keep the anger from simmering over. "About the part just now where you made someone do something he clearly didn't want to do!?"

"Jeez, McKay. Just chill!"

He grabbed on to John's arm and thought about how worried he was. "I'm already chilled enough, thank you!"

John's eyes seemed to lose their color, along with the rest of his face. "You're right. We need to talk. This way."

He tugged Rodney along until they crossed through an empty set of rooms and out onto one of the city's numerous balconies. Not a Fae was in sight, but a riderless pegasus occupied the far end. It wasn't the one he'd seen John riding before.

"Are we safe with that thing here?" Rodney asked.

"We're fine," John replied listlessly. He sank down to sit in the corner of the balcony railings, back propped up in the most defensible spot. He spoke to the hands in his lap. "I never did that to you, Rodney. I swear. Today was the first time in a long time and it was the first time I've ever done it on purpose. I've only done it once before, but it was an accident then. A _good_ accident, but it wasn't on purpose."

Rodney could tell John was feeling awful now, so he was gentle when he urged, "Tell me?"

"There was a little girl in a village in Afghanistan. She was frozen in terror and wouldn't move. She needed to _move_ … and I think I _made_ her move."

John looked so lost. Rodney picked a spot for his own seat and sat close enough for John to reach out and touch… if he wanted. "Did she die?"

"No. I got her out of the way in time, but… I… I shouldn't have this gift. I don't want it."

Rodney twitched his foot and made the toes of their shoes bump. "Just because you're holding a weapon, doesn't mean you're going to use it. I trust you, John."

The pronouncement made John look even more bleak. "You shouldn't."

"You gonna make me, Colonel?"

The challenge snapped the man out of his funk. "No!"

"That's right. You aren't going to make me do something against my will, John. I'm sorry I even thought it possible. But I know you, and I know that's not who you are."

John sat there quietly for a long time, then heaved out a sigh. Rodney stood, then offered a hand up to John. It took longer than he'd liked, but John eventually took it.

He knew he needed to get back to Liam's lab and that John needed to return to the Court; but they stood together, unmoving.

Rodney looked to John. "Are we good?" he asked. It was his turn to ask the question.

"Sure. Of course." John's smile was bright, but not as much as it had been a few hours earlier.

Rodney resolved this would be the last time he'd be foolish enough to give John a hard time about his powers.

* * *

The third test was later that same day. When John aced it by reading and translating fluently in Nox, Scottish Gaelic, and _Ancient_ , Rodney quickly revised his decision to include an escape clause for acts of feigned stupidity.

He was going to kill Gee-Shucks-I'm-Just-a-Dumb-Grunt-What-Would-I-Know-John-Sheppard. Because, seriously, that man never existed.

Then, rational thinking took over. _Death would be too quick…_

Inspiration struck. When they got back to Atlantis, Rodney would _tell the linguists and anthropologists_.

John's eyes widened as he finally caught on to what Rodney's wicked grin meant. "No," he pleaded. "No," he _whined_. "I don't want to. It's so _boring!_ "

"Tough, Colonel," Rodney said, without mercy. "All this time, you could read Ancient fluently, and you didn't help with the database translation project? Oh, Sheppard, the anthropologists are going to own your ass. Abso-fucking-lutely, YES."

Rodney cackled madly, even as Sheppard's pointy ears drooped.

All was right with the world, because Sheppard's eyes were gleeful again.

* * *

John had just settled in his bedroom when his mother stuck her head through the veil after only a cursory knock.

"John?"

"Mom, hey." Seeing her still set off a wave of disbelief and joy. "Come on in."

She paused awkwardly, just inside the closed veil. Her hands were folded calmly together, but her thumb was making nervous circles on her wrist.

John sat up straighter and tried for an air of nonchalance. "Something up?"

"There's something that I haven't told you."

"Something beyond that I was conceived with the express intent to create an Alterran/Nox hybrid that would allow the reunification of people separated for thousands of years?"

They shared a laugh. "It's not anything… bad," she said, with a little cringe that belied her words. "I just don't know how you'll adjust to the news."

He slouched back on his bed, tucking his legs up comfortably. "I'm a tough cookie."

She fingered the decorative mat of braided vines hanging on the wall before taking a seat at the foot of the bed. "Kelvyn told me that you've been running into some trouble, and that he's been helping you."

"Kelvyn. The kid?" John sat up, alert. "Look, if that's against the rules, we didn't know. He shouldn't be punished. In fact, I don't think he can help himself. He's got a bad case of hero- or alien- worship going on."

She smiled, then angled her head in question. "It doesn't bother you?"

"It happens from time to time." He thought back to the planet of kids and their ZPM and shrugged.

"John, there's not a day that's gone by when I haven't thought of you. Not just because of what you can do for our people, but because you're my little boy who built a terrarium for a frog out of tinfoil and my plastic cake transporter."

He shifted uncomfortably. Whatever it was she was trying to say sounded bad. Especially, if it needed this much lead-up about how much she loved him. "I know that, Mom. What's wrong?"

"Kelvyn, he's… I missed you and your brother so terribly," she confessed, biting her lip. She took a moment to gather herself before finally saying, "Kelvyn's your youngest brother, John. He knows you're family. I've told him so many stories about you and David. He never thought he was going to be able to meet you and, yet, here you are. He's thrilled, and I just —" Her voice broke. "I'm just hoping you feel the same, my darling."

John winced, feeling awkward that she was so upset about such a non-issue. "Hey," he called softly. " _Hey_. I don't remember us taking a vote about Davey being born and I don't remember you promising me not to have any other kids. You haven't done anything wrong. I've got a cool little brother. That's not something to cry about," John admonished gently. Her hand sought his and gripped it tightly, drawing strength from his certainty. He pulled her into his arms and gave her a big hug. After she'd dabbed away the last of her tears, he asked, "Does he know we're talking? Is he out there somewhere? Is he waiting to find out if his big hero-brother's a giant asshole who doesn't want to look at him?"

She looked up, startled. "I'll — Would you like to meet him properly this time?"

Yeah, he kinda would. "Let him know I'd love to."

His mother's smile lit up her entire face. Pride shone in her eyes. "I'll call him in."

* * *

John and his family (now, plus one) were seated at a central table awaiting the announcement of that night's test. John was thoroughly enjoying telling Kelvyn tales of his own life from when he was younger. His mother never failed to provide the more embarrassing details, and the rest of them were laughing hysterically. Kelvyn was over the moon with the attention.

This time, when the gong was struck, John could see it.

The Morrighan stood before her people and proclaimed, "This evening marks the final trial. Tonight, we shall test John Sheppard's ability to produce a glamour!"

"Glamours?" Rodney nudged John and said in an undertone, "What, like making people see things that aren't there? Jeez, I hope they're grading on a curve. There's no way you could do that."

John shifted uncomfortably. Glamours were more a tool than a superpower on the coolness scale, so he hadn't thought to mention them to Rodney. His body healed much faster than a full-blooded human's and when doctors and fellow soldiers expected to see lingering bruises and marks for days or weeks, well, having the ability to create a glamour on his own skin really came in handy. "Eh, I'm decent at them, but nothing special. Granny can make a wicked dragon, though," he answered before making his way to the front of the audience.

John wondered what they'd make him do. Tellingly enough, he was best at making up fake bruises and wounds. It was what he'd had the most practice with. More complicated glamours were kinda iffy for him, though they worked best if he was copying something. But a moving illusion like the dragon… that was completely out of the question.

"Step to the center, please," a Fae intoned, gesturing John to stand in what amounted to a pedestal in a bright spotlight.

John stepped up and fell to parade rest, for lack of anything better to do with his hands.

"Begin by changing the color of your upper garment to green."

"My whole shirt? Green? Uh…"

He broke off in concentration. Typically he stuck to smaller areas, but the principle was the same. John imagined a nice shade of drab army green and then placed his hand on the shirt. He wasn't so much changing the actual properties of the fabric, so much as he was changing the way light bounced off the surface. Though, really, he had no idea of the science behind it. Glamours never meshed well with what he'd learned of physics. Rodney was probably going to blow another gasket when he found out just what else John had inadvertently hidden from him.

In a wash, like a drop of dye blooming into a glass of water, green spread over the surface of John's black shirt. He exerted a bit of control and kept the buttons from changing color, keeping them a nice and shiny metallic silver.

A gasp went up from the assembled crowd and John felt a little miffed that so many of them had expected him to fail. He'd held his own against Taranis, after all.

John's grandmother approached him, stepping closer and lifting a hand to touch John's shirt.

"This is extraordinary. If I had not seen it myself —" She broke off with a shake of her head.

Feeling exposed just standing there on the podium, John squashed the urge to fidget. "Uh, I've been doing glamours for over a decade now. It's no big deal."

That was, apparently, Rodney's cue to barrel up to the front. John's shirt went from being in his grandmother's delicate hand to being wrenched askew and fingered by Rodney's meaty grip.

"How did you do this?" Rodney demanded.

John winced. "I don't know how it works, McKay. I just concentrate and it happens."

"Really?" The Morrighan sounded curious. To the crowd, she announced: "That will be all for today. There is no need for Jonquil to complete the second and third portions of the test. There can be no question that he passed."

Next, the queen specifically dismissed her advisors, who looked disgruntled at being shooed off. She led John by the hand and nodded regally to Rodney when he asked to join them.

"Come along, the both you. I have questions for you of my own."

Not sure what to expect, John and Rodney followed the Fae Queen to her private chambers. John was familiar with them by now, but Rodney gawked at the sight.

"Have a seat, the pair of you," she instructed. "Now, John. Your glamour — you did nothing out of the ordinary when you created it?"

John shrugged. "Same as always, though usually I don't make changes to what I'm wearing." He thought back. "I've tweaked my clothing once or twice before, though. A couple of times I got into a combat situation wearing colors that weren't the best camouflage. I was able to alter that so I blended better with the environment."

She nodded at his answer, while Rodney was surveying him with a critical eye.

"How do you typically use your glamour?" she asked.

John glanced at Rodney. "I get knocked around a lot in training or in combat —"

"Finally," Rodney broke in. "He admits it!"

John didn't bother sparing him another look. "I heal fast, so to hide that, I use glamours to make it look like I still have bruises and cuts that have long since healed."

Rodney's mouth gaped open. "What? But… Carson! You can't fool a medical test."

Morrighan looked intensely fascinated by John's answer.

"No, I can't fool tests… but when's the last time Carson deep-tissue scanned a bruise? I mean, it's a bruise; I get 'em all the time. Carson only bothers scanning the more serious stuff."

John could see Rodney's mind whirring. "But, if your bruises and whatnot heal faster," the scientist began, "does that mean only small injuries have accelerated regeneration? Or, will it work on more serious damage?"

John stared at his hands — the boney knuckles; the tendons across the top, controlling his fingers; the worn creases in his palms; the pits and scars that proved he'd had a very active jacket of service.

"You remember when Kolya had me and was feeding me to Todd?" John asked quietly.

Rodney's chin moved the barest fraction of an inch, but his grandmother appeared concerned.

"You told me nothing of this. You were captured by the enemy?" she inquired.

"Yeah. I was held captive by a man with no honor who fed me to an alien species we call the Wraith."

"They feed on life force energy," Rodney added. "We're not sure what it is exactly they consume, but it has a visible and deadly effect on their victims. Survivors of a Wraith feeding are greatly aged — their cell structures and DNA show damage associated with extreme old age." Rodney crossed his arms. "We saw a video of a Wraith feeding on John. Repeatedly."

John swallowed. Time to confess. If he held back now and it came up again later, the repercussions to his relationship with Rodney were unthinkable. "I used a glamour then, too. During the feeding."

Rodney's eyes went wide at that. "How?"

"I didn't age, Rodney. That's why it took so long for the first effects to show. I was trying to figure out exactly what I needed to change to make myself look older. If you go back and watch the tapes, you'll see my hands never get any age spots. It's just my face and wrinkles and gray hair. As far as I can tell, I'm an unlimited food supply for Wraith. When he 'drained' me and went on a killing spree, I just played near-dead until he got the hard part done."

The Morrighan's face was a mask of cool stone.

"That's why," John continued, focusing on her, "it's in your best interests to make sure the Wraith never reach the Milky Way galaxy. That means working with the SGC and the IOA, like I've been urging you to. If the Wraith were to ever know a food source like us existed, they'd set out to capture and feed upon every last one of us. The feedings — maybe it'll kill a Nox eventually, but I felt absolutely fine. I was a little disoriented and it felt a bit like dropping 10,000 feet in an F-16 at Mach 2 — but that might've been just the shock."

Silence reigned for a long moment as they all digested the import of his words.

"They can't feed from you," Rodney murmured aloud in wonder, breaking the quiet.

"They can," John corrected. "It just doesn't hurt me."

"That you know! Have you — of course you haven't. You've been lying to Carson this whole time."

"Hey, calm down, Rodney. I haven't kept everything from Carson. He knows a few things… just mostly what I can pass off as having a very strong expression of the ATA gene. I talked with him back at the mountain and cleared a few things up. But when Ancients are fed upon by the Wraith, they die. So, no, back when it happened, I didn't tell him I felt fine."

Rodney shook his head in dismissal. "Whatever. I'm sure this helps contribute to your Mr. Indestructible attitude."

John shrugged. "If the shoe fits."

"I would learn more of these Wraith," his grandmother broke in, interrupting Rodney before he could have a full-blown meltdown. "You and your companions have mentioned them to me before, but I may have discounted their importance."

"Yeah, we can fill you in," John promised. They _did_ need to know. For their own sake, and so that they realized how much of a siren's call any Nox would be to a Wraith. If his grandmother knew the danger, she just might be more supportive of his mission with Stargate Command.

"However," she continued, "that is for a later time. You have given me several examples of how you have used your glamour in the past, but none of that explains your singular ability to mask the effects from Fae themselves."

"Just what is that supposed to mean?" Rodney demanded. It wasn't as politely phrased as it could be, but the question was in John's mind as well, so he couldn't be too choosy.

"What it means is very simple," Morrighan began. "When Fae create a glamour, other Fae are not… immune, as you might say. We can all tell that an illusion is present. And, those of us who are very strong in this particular gift, can actually see beneath the illusion to the underlying reality of vision." She reached out to touch John's still green shirt." If I had not witnessed you change the color, I would have believed it was always as I see it now. Your glamour is indistinguishable from reality to me. None of us in that room could tell that the altered color is an illusion."

 _I guess I'm just really practiced at hiding what I am,_ John thought to himself. It surprised him, her words, but on a whole other level, kinda not.

He shrugged, not knowing how to respond.

"How long does it typically last?" she asked, sparing him the need to directly address his apparently unusual talent.

He shrugged again. "Two or three days. With the bruises, that's usually around the time when I alter their color to make them look like they're healing naturally. So, it could be longer. I've never really tested it out to see how long it would last."

The Morrighan considered this. "Our strongest illusionists can maintain the projection for 7-8 days. In days of yore, they tricked humans into thinking pebbles were gold coins. Nowadays," she said with a wink, "we hack into your creditors and give ourselves untraceable, unlimited credit cards. But," she said with an arched smile, "a few of us still practice a bit of trickery now and then." She let go of his shirt. "I will be speaking to your mother… I wonder if she was aware that you had such a strong talent."

"It's possible," John allowed, "but I didn't use it much back then." He hadn't had any reason to hide. It was only later, when he started needing to keep secrets.

"And you received no instruction on this? Nothing special?"

"Mom showed me when I was little, and I did was able to do it back then, but that's about it."

"I see. Well, I was the one who trained her. It seems I have a daughter to chat with." She patted his elbow. "You and your Rodney," John flushed at the phrase, "enjoy the rest of your evening. My advisors are addle-witted with drink by now. Tomorrow, after breakfast when their heads are clearer, the High Court will meet and we shall hear more of this threat from the Wraith."

"Yes, ma'am. I'll be there."

She shooed them out.

* * *

Back in the seclusion of his apartment, John flopped back in an armchair and covered his face with crossed arms. Instead of going to his room, Rodney plunked down in a seat across from him. Teyla and Ronon were nowhere to be seen. John sighed. This whole embracing his family heritage shtick was really getting to be a headache.

"Okay, Sheppard. Spill. Tell me that you did _something_ fun with this presto-change-o ability of yours."

John rolled his shoulders. "Eh, not really, Rodney. I kept my nose clean as a kid."

"Fine, how about later?"

He felt a flush rise as he remembered just what exactly he _did_ do with the glamour the last time he had leave in a large urban city. "It's come in handy in bars every now and then."

Rodney's jaw dropped. "You use it to get laid?" The tone was half accusing, half admiring. "I wouldn't have thought you'd need any help."

"I don't," John huffed. "I only use the glamour getting to and from the bar."

"Why would you not want anyone seeing you…" Rodney's giant brain chugged away at analyzing the possibilities and his look changed from confused to incredulous. "Are you… I mean, it doesn't matter to me, but, are you…" He left the question dangling for a long beat, then pursed his lips with a bitter look. "Not that it's any of my business. Never mind."

John swallowed, and offered cautiously, "The military has regs about telling, you know." Then he held his breath… if this changed things between them…

Rodney stared at him open-mouthed. "Really?" He looked John up and down. "Really? I mean, there's the ex-wife —"

"Ex," John emphasized, helpfully.

"— and the sexing up of beautiful alien women —"

"Humoring _pushy_ alien women and plying information from them," he corrected.

Rodney eyed him suspiciously, then made breast-grabby hands in front of John's chest. "You're not secretly a woman, are you? Glamouring your gazongas out of sight?"

The _thwap_ of John's gentle backhand hitting Rodney's chest was satisfyingly loud. "Jeez, McKay. How old are you? And who says _gazongas_?"

"Ow! Hey, I'm just checking! You think you know a guy… So," he said awkwardly. "Um. I need to ask about this again — what's up with everyone calling you _my_ John?"

John needed to close Rodney off, couldn't let Rodney go there — or it would be Nancy all over again. "I —" He shrugged helplessly, throat closed tight. "It's —"

 _It's just a stupid thing they do, okay?_ The lie was there, ready to be told. John took a breath, the importance of the moment eating away at his nerves.

"It doesn't have to mean anything more than what we want it to," he said, begging Rodney to understand. He wasn't ready; not yet, but soon. "So, are we good?"

Rodney stared at him with endearing blankness for a full five-count. When he smiled, it was only a faint quirk, but his eyes were soft. "Sure. We're the best, John."

And John breathed easy. Words swelled up in him, but none of them seemed right, so he settled for swallowing and a quick nod.

Rodney danced his eyebrows comically. "We _are_ the best. Only the cream of the crop for Atlantis!" He made a show of looking at his watch and cleared his throat. "And, on that note, and for absolutely no other reason than because we're the best (and because "great power, comes with great responsibility"), I have some data that I need to prep for Liam before tomorrow morning."

"Right," John managed. "Goodnight. I'll see you at breakfast."

Rodney flashed a smile. "You bet, though, if I don't show, I've forgotten the time and I'd appreciate you coming to drag me to the table before I faint."

John let his hand come up to clasp Rodney's shoulder. "Deal."

In his heart, he was promising a lot more.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art for When Family Nox by Bubblesnail](https://archiveofourown.org/works/251941) by [paleogymnast](https://archiveofourown.org/users/paleogymnast/pseuds/paleogymnast)




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